


Among Sudden Betrayals

by bemusedonion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Demonic Possession, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sarcasm, Sheriff Stilinksi's name is John, Slow Build, possessed sheriff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedonion/pseuds/bemusedonion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something wrong with Stiles and it's up to his friends to figure how to save him.</p><p>A story of really bad plans, demons, sarcastic uncles and daddy issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The bright light of the flash-bang grenade had faded but smoke still swirled around the doorway to the warehouse as the wolves waited, silently watching to see if another projectile would come hurtling towards them. Derek huffed and took a step closer to the door, wolfed out enough that he could use all of his senses to watch for danger. 

“That was dangerous. You could have hurt one of us.” Derek yelled into the dark warehouse. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone but I will if I have to.” A voice shouted from inside. “So just leave!” 

“We’re not going anywhere.” Scott called out, heading for the open door at a run and Derek rolled his eyes, motioning for the other betas to follow. The warehouse was musty but solid, obviously maintained over the years and there were clean patches, as if someone had come in recently to work. The pack stopped just outside the pool of light in the center of the warehouse and Derek moved to the front, looking down at a line of black dirt in front of his feet. 

“Mountain ash?” 

“Sometimes it’s nice to stick to the classics.” Stiles said, the smirk on his face not matching the desperate tone in his voice. “I figured that despite the fact that it would be wiser to stay outside, you’d all come traipsing right in like it was nothing. God, you need me around to make all your plans.” 

“Break the line, Stiles.” Scott pleaded, pacing back and forth. “We can help you!” 

“You don’t want to help me!” Stiles screamed at his best friend. “Look at what you brought here, Scott. Wolves and hunters and whatever we call Deaton. You didn't come here to help, you came here to battle!” 

“Be reasonable, Mr. Stilinski.” Deaton said from the doorway where the smoke had cleared enough for Allison, her father and the vet to enter the warehouse. “You know that things can’t continue the way they have. You need to let us deal with the situation.” 

“I don’t need to let anyone deal with anything.” Stiles shook his head, taking a careful step back away from the group of people. “Just leave. It’s not just mountain ash. I've got the guns from my dad’s cruiser. Leave and no one needs to get hurt.” 

“Stiles, I promise you we will do everything we can to make sure -” Derek stopped as he heard a shuffle from behind Stiles. In a second, everyone else in the warehouse heard the movement as well. Stiles whirled around, looking in shock at the person on the floor. 

“Stiles? What…what is going on?” The deep voice was weak, laced with confusion and Stiles whimpered slightly, falling to his knees and reaching out a hand to hover over the man’s shoulder. 

“D-d-dad? Is it really you?” 

Sheriff Stilinski blinked slowly up at his son, before giving a short nod. “I don’t know what’s- where are we, Stiles?” 

“Oh my god.” Stiles dropped his chin to his chest, breathing heavily. “Oh god, it’s so good to hear you all confused, Dad, you have no idea.” 

“Derek, I don’t think this is what Stiles hopes it is.” Deaton murmured quietly, starting to look through the bag of herbs he brought with him. 

“Be careful, Stiles.” Derek urged, pressing as close as he could to the line of mountain ash. “Break the line now!” 

“Is that Derek Hale?” the sheriff asked, peering across the room. “Help me stand up, kiddo.” 

Stiles moved to grab his dad’s arm and no one in the room missed the couple of false starts where the teen flinched too much to be helpful. Eventually the pair stood, Stiles helping to steady his dad before letting go. 

“You good, Dad?” 

“I’m not sure.” His dad shook his head lightly. “Want to start explaining?” 

“Mr. Stilinski?” Scott called from the edge of the circle, getting the attention of everyone. “There’s been some crazy stuff going on and I know you don’t really know about all of it or why Stiles knocked you out and bro-“ 

The sheriff turned slowly to look at his son. “You knocked me out?” 

Stiles blinked in shock at the cold tone. “Uh…” 

“Please, sir, we need Stiles to break the line.” Scott called. “I know you don’t understand, but it’s important!” 

“I thought maybe it was the wolves or the hunter and his little protégé that did it and you were protecting me here.” John said, stalking closer to his son. “But I see I was wrong.” 

“Please, no. No no no.” Stiles shook his head, trembling as his father drew closer. 

“If I’m not mistaken, we already had a conversation about loyalty once this week.” The Sheriff stated. “Do we need to revisit the punishment again? Maybe it will stick better the second time around.” 

“Hey!” Derek yelled, his claws extended as he pressed against the barrier. His betas growled behind him, all shifting in frustration. 

“I know you’re in there, Sheriff!” Scott yelled desperately. “If you care about Stiles, you've got to fight back and let him go!” 

“Scott, you lovable idiot.” The Sheriff laughed at the teen, snatching at Stiles’ shirt and dragging him close. “You are so naive. What makes you think there’s anything left in here besides me?” 

“Despite his misbehavior, he's been useful.” Gripping Stiles hard enough to make the teen whimper, he turned to face the warehouse, flashing pure black eyes at those watching in horror. "I think I'll keep him for my own." 

\-------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

Like all of their plans, everything goes horribly wrong. 

Nobody is quite sure why it always happens, but no matter how much they plan and prepare, it always ends up like a snowball of claws and fur hurtling downhill at breakneck speeds. Sure, they end up taking out the bad guys, but it's almost by accident. Peter once said their success was due to good timing; they were lucky enough to make sure their inevitable implosion happened near enough to their target to take them out as well. Derek shoved him halfway through a wall for that uncomfortable truth. 

The problem with their plans isn't because they aren't well thought-out. Jackson is incredibly pessimistic and does a great job of loudly anticipating all the things that will go wrong at each turn so they can prepare. It's not that they are stupid. Scott has no shame in asking for help and is quick to turn to Deaton or the Argents when he has a question about anything. It certainly isn't that they aren't strong enough. After the alpha pack fiasco the Hale pack is stronger than ever. Derek has finally figured out a balance between sadistic cult leader and cryptic stranger and the beta wolves are thriving and working together almost seamlessly. 

In fact, the problem with their plans was only half their fault. Half of it was an unavoidable fact of the life they led. They were a pack of werewolves made up of hormonal teenagers, damaged adults and the occasional mouthy human, battling against supernatural forces. They lived in a messed up world and things were never going to run smoothly. But the other half of the time...the other half was totally their fault. Scott still refused to accept his place in the pack and as a wolf in general. Peter alternated between wise uncle and snarky commentator and managed to be creepy in both roles. Stiles was completely outside the structure of the pack yet managed to be in charge of 90% of the planning. Derek...well, the truth was that Derek just sucked. 

Derek was great in a fight. He growled and slashed and tumbled around like a goddamn gymnast and it was glorious. While sniffing out and biting troubled teens seemed to be a dubious talent, he managed to take care of them fairly well. He kept the loft full of food, made sure to have an uncomfortable talk with Boyd and Erica about safe sex and even drove Isaac to a college tour 90 miles south. The fact that he never wanted to be alpha didn't mean that he didn't take that responsibility seriously and it showed in almost all aspects of his interactions with the pack. The only thing he didn't do well was plan ahead. 

His current situation was pretty indicative of Derek's mode of planning. Get angry, forget to call anyone for backup, become overwhelmed by something with powers he didn't anticipate, get half-killed and then retreat. Success rate? Zero. 

"Dude, we've got to talk about this pattern of yours." Stiles tutted, watching as Derek washed in hands in the loft's kitchen. 

"Don't call me dude." Derek said idly, scrubbing blood from under his nails. "What pattern?" 

"This! This pattern!" Stiles waved his hands at the blood covered counters and sink. "The pattern where you run off on your own and come back chewed up by the latest monster of the week!" 

"Nobody chewed anyone, Stiles. He had a knife." Derek sighed, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. "And I didn't run off on my own. The demon found me when I was pumping gas and chased me into the woods." 

"You were right by your car, why didn't you just make a quick getaway?" 

"So I could leave the demon to hurt one of the humans at the gas station?" Derek glared at the teen. "At least we know what we are looking for now." 

"Yeah, because that's all that matters." Stiles rolled his eyes and pushed past him to flop into a chair. "The Derek Hale early warning system, folks. Sure it's a bit bloody, but who cares!" 

"If the two of you are done bickering like an old married couple," Peter drawled from where he was sprawled across the loveseat reading a magazine. "We might want to talk about the nest of demons Derek uncovered." 

"Nest?" Derek and Stiles spoke in tandem, looking at each other in horror. 

"Adorable." Peter muttered, folding his magazine and sitting up. "Like wolves and witches and vampires, demons follow the trend of supernatural beings that tend to live in groups. While it wouldn't necessarily be called a pack or have the traditional leadership structure of one, a demons nest usually numbers between 3 and 7 and tends to possess based on convenience rather than any specific trait of the human, since they maintain considerable strength and power on their own. They'll often take whole families, living quietly under the radar while they wait to fulfill a specific task." 

"You sound like you ate the bestiary." Stiles noted. "What sort of task are we talking about?" 

"Why thank you, Peter, for that helpful information. You are a boon in our times of trouble." Peter said airily, going back to his magazine. 

Derek growled lowly and Peter rolled his eyes. "Who knows why demons do what they do. Sometimes they kill people, sometimes they steal things. Sometimes it's just manipulating situations for some future event. There's an agenda they're working towards, but they're not sharing. The biggest problem for you is that they can sense other supernatural creatures and they operate on a kill-on-sight basis." 

"Lovely. Demonic killing machines who know your wolfy secrets and run around in secret groups." Stiles took out his cell phone. "And just when I thought I'd be able to go see Iron Man 3 again." 

"I thought you took Isaac the other night?" Derek asked, watching as Stiles typed out a text to the pack. "Wasn't that your second time?" 

"It's Tony Stark, Derek." Stiles looked up in confusion. "There is never enough times to see Tony Stark." 

"Very true." Peter agreed. "You have to appreciate the story of the handsome flawed hero who battles with his intelligence and sarcasm and never gives up." 

Derek and Stiles both blinked at the older man for a long moment before Stiles shook his head firmly. "Nope, you're not coming along. I have too much invested in Marvel for you to ruin this for me. Keep your creepy away from my Avengers." 

Peter mumbled something about Loki and Derek tuned him out as he walked over to Stiles. "Tell everyone to meet here tonight and to be cautious of people with completely black eyes." 

"I'm also telling them that if they run into someone who wants to kill them, they should call us and head towards help instead of running into the woods in some sort of ill-advised self-sacrificing maneuver." 

"Shut up, Stiles." 

\-----------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

"This is the plan!" Stiles spread his arms out proudly, indicating the hodge podge collection of items spread out over Derek's kitchen table. 

"Are those toys?" Jackson asked derisively. "From happy meals?" 

"Yeah!" Scott enthused. "Stiles has a whole collection! Some are pretty rare-" 

"We've talked about oversharing, man." Stiles frowned. "Especially with anything involving the words 'toys' or 'collectibles'." 

"You are seriously planning a potentially fatal battle using kids toys." 

"I am and you, Jackson, are the McNuggets that transform into a dinosaur because that's as close to a giant lizard as I could find." 

Jackson growled, his eyes flashing before Derek thumped the table with his fist. "Focus. Explain, Stiles." 

"Okay, Peter said that the demons will attack other supernatural creatures, so we need to draw them to you. We stick Derek, Scott, Peter and Jackson inside the old diner. Allison and I will be watching from across the street and when they enter, we'll text the B team." 

Isaac looked over the pieces on the table. "Am I Miss Piggy?" 

"That's Erica. Boyd is He-Man." Stiles picked up the last figure. "And you're Puss in Boots from Shrek. Obviously." 

"I don't even have a toy?" Peter looked at the salt shaker that stood in his place on the table. 

"Too creepy." More than one person retorted. 

"Like I was saying...Erica, Boyd and Isaac will be split up and far enough out that the demons shouldn't sense them over the pull of the four wolves in the diner. They advance on my mark while Allison and I will circle the building with churchyard dirt. Deaton said it'll keep the demons inside but won't bother werewolves." 

"That'll put the two of you pretty close." Scott said. "Can't you place it beforehand?" 

"Nope, apparently demons can sense that. But don't worry, Deaton gave us anti-possession...er..." 

"Shots." Allison finished. "Some sort of mixture of herbs and blessed water. Only good for humans though." 

"A shot?" Erica arched an eyebrow and Stiles winced, reaching behind him to rub at his hip. 

"So once we have the demons inside, how do we kill them?" 

"It's not a matter of killing them as much as getting them to leave their host." Peter explained. "Demons can be killed in their host, but it's extremely difficult. They can take a far more damage and heal from it, even more than a werewolf. The best option is to make them leave on their own." 

"How? By asking politely?" Jackson asked. "And if they do leave their host won't they just possess one of us?' 

"Demons can only possess ordinary humans." Derek spoke up, fiddling with the shark toy that represented him. "So once Stiles closes the circle and the others arrive, they'll be stuck without any chance of getting free or getting new hosts. Their best option will be to leave." 

"Any questions?" Stiles asked the group. "Nope? Great, let's leave early. I'm craving fries." 

\----------------------------------------------------------

Stiles was positive that all blame for the plan failing should fall on someone not him. There was no way that his expertly thought out, happy meal fueled plan could have any faults. It was, quite obviously, user error. 

Peter and Jackson had been snapping at each other loud enough that Derek was distracted with trying to keep the peace. He should have been able to rely on Scott to pick up the slack but he was too busy texting Allison. Of course that also meant Allison wasn't paying attention either and Stiles was too busy trying to stay perched in his spot in a tree across the street. 

Okay, that part might be his fault. Allison assured him that the tree was a perfect place to shelter but it turns out that in addition to her archery skills, she's also able to climb trees like a squirrel. Embarrassingly enough, Stiles had needed Derek to give him a boost onto a branch and he spent the next 45 minutes mashing his face into the bark and trying not to fall to his death. 

Which means the two of them completely missed the arrival of the demons. It wasn't until they heard a roar from one of the wolves that Allison and Stiles realized what had happened. The girl leapt gracefully from the tree, hitting the ground with her bow already out and armed while Stiles slipped off a branch, thumped into another and landed on his face. He took a second to curse the tree loudly before grabbing his phone and sending out the text to alert the others. 

"It's too loud in there." Allison said tightly. "They need our help." 

"Stick to the plan!" Stiles whispered, grabbing the bag of churchyard dirt from his backpack. "Cover me while I make the circle and by then the others will be here." 

The two of them ran across the street, Allison's bow trained on the diner where they could see shadowy figures fighting inside. Stiles began tipping the dirt as they hit the sidewalk, pouring it out and concentrating on the spark of belief he needed to make it work. 

"Stiles!" Isaac’s frantic voice interrupted his thoughts and he looked up in confusion. He was only about halfway around the building and Allison was nowhere to be seen. Isaac pointed to the now open back door where an arrow had pierced the lock. 

"Was no one paying attention to the plan?!" Stiles groaned. "Go on, I'll finish the circle and meet you inside." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yup, I'm good. Go! Bite all the bad guys!" Stiles waved off the teen and continued on around the building, trying to hurry the process. After lots of practice with Deaton and his never-ending forms of dirt-based protection circles, Stiles had realized that there was little he could to do to modify the speed. Speeding up or slowing down the process never seemed to work. Deaton said it was because the dirt moved in its own time but Stiles was off the opinion that Deaton spent about 60% of his time just messing with people's minds. 

"Look out!" The scream came almost too late as the window nearest to Stiles shattered as Peter was thrown out it. The wolf landed in a pile of glass inches from where Stiles stood and the teen scrambled back quickly as a demon launched himself out after him. The two men traded blows, and Stiles winced at the crack of bone against metal as the demon shoved Peter against the wall of the diner. He grabbed a handful of dirt from the bag and moved closer, believing deeply that it was dangerous. Throwing it towards the pair, he was delighted to see the demon shudder as the dirt fell on his head and shoulders. 

"What the - hey!" The demon turned his gaze on the teen, his eyes a deep black. He barely got a step before Peter rallied, stabbing a piece of glass deep into his shoulder. The demon went down, grabbing Peter's leg and sweeping it out from under him. Rolling around on the ground, Peter tried to roll them towards the diner. 

"Finish the line, Stiles!" He yelled, elbowing the demon off his back. 

Stiles jumped and grabbed his bag tighter, moving as quickly as he could to get past the grappling men. As he neared the beginning of the circle he heard another crash and roar behind him but didn't look, closing his eyes tightly as he took the last few steps and the circle completed. There was a flash of light and a slight smell of ozone and then...silence. The fighting had stopped inside the diner and Stiles felt a small thrill of excitement that he had performed everything correctly. Dusting off his hands, he twisted the top of the bag of dirt and then carefully inched back around the corner to see Peter using the side of the diner to stand up, brushing glass off his clothes. Alone. 

"Weren't there two of you a second ago?" Stiles asked, looking to see if there was a body behind Peter. "Where's the demon?" 

Peter sighed and pointed to a dented trash can nearby and Stiles stared at it in shock, noting that not only did it look like it had been smashed by a truck...it was also on the other side of the circle. 

"You are explaining this to Derek all by yourself." 

\--------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check my [tumblr](http://inclementpeace.tumblr.com/) for updates (and pics of the happy meal toy choices!)


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles and Peter moved to the broken window, looking in at the mess inside. The diner was filled with destroyed furniture, broken glass and a lot of spilled blood. Boyd and Isaac were standing over a table, holding down the shoulders of a beaten demon who was glaring up at them. Scott and Derek knelt on the floor by Erica who was hissing at them while they tried to help straighten what seemed to be dual dislocated shoulders. Allison was watching Jackson warily as he stood over the obviously dead body of the other demon. 

"I'm sure this isn't a good time, but does anyone want to move that broken booth away from the door? Whoa!" Stiles flailed as Peter grabbed his waist and lifted him up over the windowsill. "Bad touch! Bad touch!" 

"Calm down, Stiles." Peter grunted, dropping him inside the diner and then vaulting over the sill himself. "I didn't go anywhere near your no-zones." 

"I..." Stiles shook his head. "On a less disturbing note, why do we have a dead person? There were no dead people in the plan." 

"The plan didn't work." Derek grunted, leaving Scott to stay with Erica and standing up. 

"They never do." Jackson muttered. 

"It sort of worked." Stiles said. "We got two of them!" 

"Two?" Derek growled, looking at Peter. 

"I'm sorry my defenestration was an inconvenience, Derek. I really enjoyed it. I may hurl myself through plate glass windows on a regular basis for exfoliation purposes." 

"What about the circle, Stiles?" 

"Yeah, okay, that part of the plan didn't work." Stiles said and pointed a finger at Jackson, whose mouth was open. "Not a word, lizard boy." 

"Is everyone alright?" Derek asked, running a hand over his face. Waiting to get affirmations from the rest of the group, he moved to stand over the remaining demon. "You're stuck here. You can't possess any of us; we aren't going to let you go. Your only choice is to leave the host." 

The demon looked up at the alpha for a long moment, and then took in the gaze of the rest of the group standing around the table. "Nope." 

Stiles shared a confused look with Derek. "I'm sorry, are your ears clogged with demonic ear wax? You don't have any other options." 

"I can just stay." The demon replied. "The host body can last as long as I want it to so I'm good to stay here for a long time. But I'm sure you and your little wolf cubs will need to eat and go for walkies eventually." 

Derek slammed his fists onto the table next to the demons head, roaring directly into his face. "Get out!" 

"I won't." The demon said his gaze steady. 

"He can't do that, can he?" Stiles asked Peter quietly and the other man shrugged. 

"I'm afraid we've reached the end of my knowledge on demons. We may have to call in Deaton." 

"Right." Stiles sighed and moved closer to Scott, checking on Erica who was healing quickly. "Buddy, it's time to call in your boss." 

\---------------------------------------

Deaton arrived in the diner with a large black bag, a jug of water and an amused look. "Was it young Mr. Stilinski who chose this location?" 

Derek nodded, looking between the smirking vet and the suddenly sheepish teen. "What about it?" 

"I just think The Moonrise Diner seemed like his handiwork." Deaton smiled at Stiles who was avoiding eye contact from the wolves. "Also, good job on the circle. Very strong." 

"Thanks." Stiles smiled weakly. "But we've got a problem. It's also time sensitive." 

"How so?" Deaton came closer to the demon stilled pinned on the table by Boyd and Isaac. Handing the jug off to Erica and the bag to Scott, he circled the table slowly. 

"One of the demons got away." Derek answered. "Once we have this one taken care of, we need to go search." 

"That's unfortunate. Demons can be persuaded to leave, but it's a job that requires patience." Deaton leaned down to look at the demon closely. "There is another option, but I'd rather not resort to forcefully separating the demon from its host." 

"Just try it." The demon spat, writhing against the table. "That's the only way you're getting me out of this meat bag!" 

"Are you talking about an exorcism?" Scott questioned the vet, looking into the bag he held. "Like with Latin and crosses?" 

"Nothing quite so theatrical;" Deaton shook his head. "Mr. Stilinski, I need you to infuse the water with some of the churchyard dirt." 

Stiles came to take the jug from Erica and knelt on the ground, digging in his backpack for the leftover dirt. "So what do you do with the water, pour it over him? Will it hurt him?" 

"It doesn't go over him." Deaton said, pulling out some herbs from his bag. "It goes inside of him." 

"Ew. This isn't going to involve an enema, is it?" Scott looked at everyone who was staring at him. "What?! We have to give medicine to animals that way a lot!" 

"There is no way that I'm participating in that." Jackson shook his head. 

"Ditto!" Erica nodded. "I'm safewording out on this one." 

"Calm down." Deaton smirked. "He'll be drinking the mixture. It won't be easy so I'll need Derek to hold his jaw open while Stiles pours." 

" _'While Stiles pours'_?" Peter asked, stepping forward from where he had been picking glass out of his jacket. "Why is Stiles doing the work and not you?" 

"Peter." Derek growled a warning. "Now is not the-" 

"Now is the time, nephew." Peter interrupted. "I keep telling you not to blindly trust the vet and time after time... Tell me, Deaton, why aren't you participating in this little cure? What is going to happen that you're avoiding?" 

"It's a strong possibility that the host will die when we remove the demon." Deaton told Peter blandly. 

"How strong a possibility?" Stiles gulped, staring up at the vet. 

Deaton sighed, turning to look at the teen. "Almost always. I'm fine to teach you, Mr. Stilinski, to give you the tools you need but there is only so much I'm allowed to do. You'll have to do the rest." 

"Oh." Stiles looked down at the jug and slowly finished tipping the dirt inside. Like when the circle was completed outside, there was a small flash of light as his belief worked on the dirt. "So...now we...uh..." 

"No." Derek shook his head. "We'll wait. This one is protected inside the circle and a couple of us will stay to make sure nothing happens. The rest will go search for the other one." 

"You don't have-" Stiles started before Derek interrupted him. 

"He'll get bored eventually and realize that it's easier to just leave." Derek glared at the demon. "It's fine, Stiles. This is not something you have to do." 

Peter clapped his hands once, drawing everyone’s attention. "Alright, now that our disgustingly adorable moment of the day is over, let's move onto hunting demons." 

"Fine." Derek growled. "Peter, Scott and Jackson, you're with me. The rest of you stay here and watch the demon. Stiles, you and Allison stand watch outside. You need to make sure that nobody accidentally breaks the line." 

"You'll never find him, you know." The demon called as they left. "He'll be long gone by now!" 

Erica calmly walked over and slammed her fist against the man's temple, knocking him out. "Don't worry, we got this." 

\--------------------------------------------

Across town Sheriff John Stilinski was coming back from Tim Horton's with the midnight shift's coffee order when a car blasted through the red light. Switching on his lights and sirens, he pulled out onto the road, following the car. 

"Dispatch, this is the Sheriff, I've got a late model Chevy speeding south on Main. I'll radio with a plate shortly." 

"Roger, Sheriff. Don't spill the coffee." 

John rolled his eyes at reprimand and followed the car as it turned the corner into the empty industrial section with a screech of tires. "Slow down there, partner." There was a thump ahead as the car came too close to a corner of a building in the dark and all of a sudden it was crashing, careening off concrete walls and dumpsters before ending up halfway wrapped around a light pole. 

Stopping quickly the Sheriff jumped out of his car, hand on his radio as he raced to the driver’s side door. "Hey! Hey, are you alright?" A bloody hand reached weakly out of the driver’s side window, grasping in the open air and the Sheriff "Sir, are you al-" 

With a near silent groan, the demon left his host and traveled through to the Sheriff. There was a moment of stillness as the old host and former host paused and then the man trapped in the car started screaming, released finally from the demon's hold but now dealing with the pain of the car crash with purely human strength. The demon inside Sheriff Stilinski rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, getting used to the feel of his new body. 

"Sheriff, this is dispatch. Did you have a plate for us from that speeder?" The radio on his shoulder squawked and the demon stared at it, combing through John's memories to figure out just what to do. Finally he leaned down, reaching his hands into the car to quickly snap the neck of the screaming man before reaching for his radio. 

"Dispatch, this is the Sheriff. Negative on the plate. I just let him off with a warning." 

\----------------------------


	5. Chapter 5

It was well into the early morning hours when Derek finally called off the search. He sent everybody home, promising that he and Peter would watch the demon till the others were able to come back after school. 

Stiles sleepily drove home, blinking heavily to keep him awake. He was dismayed to see his dad's cruiser in the driveway but the lights were off and hopefully he could just convince his dad tomorrow that he had missed curfew due to video games with Scott. He eased the front door open and was just about to close it quietly when the hall light flicked on. 

"Home a little late, aren't you?" Sheriff Stilinski stood at the end of the hallway, his arms crossed and still wearing his uniform. 

"Dad! You're still up! Aren't you sleeping well?" Stiles followed his general plan of deflecting as he shut the door and dropped his backpack on the floor. "Probably comes from drinking too much caffeine at work. We should switch you to-" 

"Shut up." John said flatly and Stiles blinked at the harshness, his mouth snapping shut. "What were you doing out this late?" 

"Just hanging out with Scott." Stiles said, changing his tone to placating. "Got caught up playing Call of Duty and didn't realize how late it was. Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to worry you." 

The Sheriff walked closer, stopping a few steps away, looking down at the teen. "At least that last sentence was honest. Impressive, I wasn't sure you even knew how to tell the truth." 

"Dad?" Stiles fidgeted slightly, not sure why his father was so cold. "Is everything okay?" 

"Just go, Stiles." The Sheriff moved past him to lock the front door. "I'm going to bed." 

"Wait, Dad!" Stiles reached out as he passed, grabbing his sleeve and was shocked when the man spun, shoving his arm away roughly. 

"Get out of my face, Stiles." 

Watching as his father went upstairs and shut his door firmly, Stiles ran over the past few days events in his head. He couldn't remember doing anything particularly annoying or troubling but he couldn't remember doing much good either. Maybe he needed to step it up on the 'good son' front. Barring anything else, he definitely needed to make sure he was home by curfew from now on. Resolving to change things tomorrow, Stiles headed off to bed. 

\------------------------------------------

Ditching his friends after school had been easier than Stiles thought, easily skipping out on demon guard duty or runaway demon search duty. Since neither of those jobs were Stiles-specific, no one minded when he said he needed to go home and work on chores. Or in this case, chores meant Stiles was going to go home and clean all the things and then possibly cook all the things. His dad's weirdo display of anger last night must have meant that the stress of the job and fatherhood must be getting to him. Ever since he had inadvertently gotten his dad fired, Stiles had made a concentrated effort to stay on the good side of the law and not worry his dad too often. Apparently he needed to redouble his efforts. 

Three hours later Stiles found himself lying under the ceiling fan in the kitchen, slowly emerging from his cleaning frenzy. Looking at his phone he realized that it was past dinner and his dad hadn't come home so he decided to make dinner and drop some off at the station. It would be a good way to show his dad that he was helping plus it would make sure that he was eating something helpful. Double whammy. 

The chicken stir fry was quick and easy to make and he had just transferred it to a plastic container when his cell phone rang with Derek's ringtone. Juggling the warm plastic in one hand, he hit the button for his phone. "Stilinski House of Mischief & Magic, how can we dazzle you today?" 

Derek sighed loudly and Stiles grinned at his ability to exasperate the other man. "What do you need, Derek?" 

"Are you coming by the diner tonight? I need to get everyone out to search for the other demon and I need you and Allison to babysit the demon." 

"You trust the two humans with that job?" Stiles asked, heading out the door for his jeep. "I thought you wanted wolves there? Allison and I could help search. She's been trained to track and I've...you know...got eyes." 

"You'd be fine to track, Stiles." Derek countered. "But it's better if I can send the wolves because they can split up and still protect themselves. Can you make it?" 

"Sure, but give me an hour." Stiles started the jeep and pulled out of his driveway. "I'm taking dinner out to my dad and I'd thought I'd try and eat with him. He had a bee in his bonnet last night when he caught me coming home after curfew." 

"Sorry." 

"You know what, Sourwolf; you don't really need to apologize for something I chose to do on my own." Stiles rolled his eyes. "But you could work on your apology skills. Growling out a word doesn't sound terribly sincere. It just sounds like you need a cough drop." 

"I'll see you in an hour, Stiles." Derek growled before hanging up the phone. 

Stiles laughed, dropping his phone in his pocket as he arrived at the police station. Carrying in the food, he gave a small wave to the sergeant on front desk duty as he headed back to his dad's office. Seeing that the man wasn't on the phone, he knocked on the door frame lightly. 

"Hey there, pops! Since yo-" Stiles stopped mid-word when his Dad glared, his finger pointing at him. "What?" 

"Sit." John pointed at a chair in front of his desk. "Be quiet. I'm busy." 

"Right." Stiles walked over and sat down, arching his head to see if he could see what file his father was working on but the papers were tilted away. There weren't any crime scene photos that he could see, but maybe they were hidden. The really gruesome scenes always put his dad on edge. "I'll just hang here for a bit, no wo-" 

"Stiles!" The sheriff barked loud enough that Stiles could hear deputies outside his office stop working for a moment. "Do you understand what 'quiet' means?" 

"This...this is a trick question, isn't it?" Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself. 

"God, how did I ever get stuck with this kid?" John muttered, quietly enough that Stiles wasn't sure if he was supposed to be overheard. 

Stiles just blinked in shock, his mind going back to that mess of a party at Lydia's house when he had hallucinated his father yelling. It had taken him days to work through how he felt about the incident, and though he had wished he could just talk to his dad about the issue, he had never come up with a good way to explain his worries that didn't involve the words 'hallucinations' 'drugged drinks' or 'werewolves'. Despite never having the conversation, John showed his love to Stiles often and eventually the teen had just written it off as unfounded fears. But now, sitting here and staring across the desk from his dad who seemed completely fed up with...now Stiles wasn't sure if those fears were unfounded. 

Twenty silent minutes later, Sheriff Stilinski put down the file he was holding and looked across the desk. Stiles gave a wan smile, holding up the tupperware container. "I...uh…brought dinner? Chicken stir fry, with those water chestnuts you like." 

"I ate a couple of hours ago with the guys." 

"Not burgers, I hope. That's not on your diet." Stiles spouted off without thought and seeing the look on his dad's face, he backtracked quickly. "Although some burgers with lean meat have been proven to be healthier than ot-"

"I don't need you to micromanage what I eat." The Sheriff spoke lowly, his tone angry as he stood, not an ounce of love in his gaze. "What I need you to do is to go home. Go home and stay home. Stop sneaking out at night. Stop hanging out with whoever you're hanging out with. Stop lying to me. Stop disappointing me. Just go home, Stiles." 

Stiles wasn't quite sure how he got from the station to his house. He was sure he drove, that he unlocked his front door and climbed the stairs to his room, but he didn't have any recollection of the events. As he sat numbly on his bed, staring at the wall all he could think of was his dad saying that he was disappointing him. The conversation from last night in the hallway, tonight at the station and even the hallucination from the night of the party all twined in his head to be a montage of angry-faced fathers. 

The phone in his pocket rang and he picked it up without checking the display. "Yeah?" 

"What the hell, Stiles? You're over an hour late!" Derek yelled over the phone. 

"Sorry. I can't come tonight." 

"What does that mean?" Derek asked, confused. "You know how important this is, you can't just bail." 

"Derek." Stiles pleaded. "I really can't." 

"Stiles?" Derek shushed someone near him, his tone with Stiles much calmer. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, nothing." Stiles answered. "It's just...my dad. He's not too happy with me so I need to lay low. No wolf stuff." 

There was a long pause before someone asked a question in the background and Derek seemed to decide he didn't have time to talk. "Fine. We'll make do." 

"Sorry again, Derek." 

"Don't worry about it, Stiles." Derek told him, before his voice turned serious. "Call somebody if you need to talk." 

"Thanks, man." Stiles dropped the phone onto his bed, curling up to lie beside it. He was tired and heartsick and while his mind screamed for him to figure out a way to make things better with his dad, all he could manage was to drift off to an uneasy sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight parental violence in this chapter. Please be careful reading.

As any school kid knows, there is something magical about Saturday mornings. Maybe it's the cartoons, or the chance to eat a significant portion of your body weight in cereal, or maybe just the chance to sleep in later than a school day. For Stiles, part of the magic had been breakfasts with his father. Since before his mom had died, Saturday mornings meant french toast in the Stilinski household. When he was a child, he sat on the counter and helped stir cinnamon and milk with a large wooden spoon, splashing himself and his father with the mixture. As he grew, his job changed from stirring to dunking to burn patrol and for years, Stiles stood near the stove and watched to make sure the toast didn't burn while he and his father discussed their lives. Breakfast on Saturday mornings couldn't always happen, there were school trips and weekend shifts at the station but it was a priority and they worked hard to keep the tradition. 

Since Scott was bitten and Stiles started making the supernatural his priority, they've missed all but one Saturday breakfast in a year. 

So it was a surprise when Stiles woke late on Saturday to smell cinnamon and sugar wafting up from the kitchen. He had slept horribly, his body tense as he thought over his interactions with his dad. The night had been filled with 'what ifs' as Stiles had replayed his most recent decisions, trying to find the tipping point, the decision that had made him into such a disappointment. Now, sitting on the edge of his bed and smelling the familiar scent of french toast, Stiles allowed himself the tiniest bit of hope. Maybe it hadn't been his fault. Maybe he hadn't done anything wrong and his dad was just having a tough week and had taken it out on him. The french toast, the Saturday breakfast tradition, could be an apology. 

Tripping down the stairs in his haste, Stiles arrived in the kitchen slightly breathless. "Dad! Good morning! Smells great! I'm starved!" 

"Reign it in before you hurt yourself." The Sheriff said dryly from where he stood in front of the stove. "Take a seat, the toast will be done in a minute." 

"Sure you don't need me to make sure it doesn't burn?" Stiles joked, heading for the table but detouring when he realized it wasn't set properly. He darted towards the fridge to grab the syrup, then to the cabinet for the powdered sugar. Turning with both condiments in his hands, he jerked to a halt when he found his father inches away. 

"I said-" John reached out and placed a hand on Stiles shoulder, gripping tightly as he steered him to the table. "Take. A. Seat." Enunciating each word with hard squeezes on his shoulder until Stiles whimpered, the Sheriff pushed his son into a chair at the table. "You do not take orders very well." 

Stiles sat stiffly in his chair, his neck hunched to ease the pain in his right shoulder. He didn't know how to respond so he just sat there in silence as his dad finished cooking, plating and delivering the french toast to the table. He sat there as John sat down across from him, tucking into his own breakfast. Clutching the powdered sugar and syrup to his chest, Stiles tried desperately to figure out what he was supposed to do next but it was like his brain was frozen. It refused to work, unable to handle a reality where his dad purposefully hurt him. 

"Hey!" John thumped his fork on the table, startling Stiles into dropping the syrup and powdered sugar on the floor. 

"God, I'm sorry!" Stiles cried out, scrambling to pick up the items and placing them on the table. He set them down with shaking hands, trying to keep an eye on his dad without actually making eye contact. Somewhere, deep in his mind, a slightly hysterical voice made comparisons to behavior of abused dogs. "Sorry." 

"Just eat." 

Stiles cut a corner off his toast and slowly put it in his mouth, concentrating on chewing it several times before swallowing. Being on Adderall had given him some interesting experiences over the years but nothing compared to now. It was like everything was incredibly defined and Stiles could smell and taste and hear better than before. He imagined it was a bit like werewolf senses except for the sweeping nausea and crippling fear. The thought of choking down another bite made him dizzy and he set his fork down carefully. 

"I'm not...I'm not really hungry. I think I'll go out?" Stiles wasn't sure if asking or telling was the right option here and beads of sweat erupted on his brow as he watched his dad carefully. "Uh, I mean, can I go out? With my friends?" 

John finished cutting a bite of toast, then stabbed it with a fork as he stared at his son. "Going out with friends? Or going out with wolves?" 

Error. Crash. Reboot. If Stiles thought his brain had a problem processing before, it was nothing compared to this moment. Thank god for the autonomic nervous system that kept his lungs breathing and his heart pumping because it felt like Stiles brain just broke. He gulped in a deep breath, coughing slightly. "W-what?" 

"I'm not a fool, kid." The sheriff arched an eyebrow. "I know you play little red riding Stiles to a pack of werewolves." 

"D-d-don't know w-what you're t-talking about." Stiles stuttered, gripping the edge of the table tightly, his mind spinning. 

"Oh, you little liar." John crooned, standing and walking around the table. He leaned down, placing his hand on the back of the chair and speaking directly into Stiles face. "Let's get one thing straight, kid. I don't like people lying to me. So how about this be the last time you do that, okay?" 

Stiles blinked up at his father dumbly until the Sheriff slammed a hand down on the table hard enough to tip over the glasses of orange juice. "Answer me!" 

"Okay! Okay, okay, okay!" Stiles yelped, ducking down defensively. Hiding his face he felt his father's hot breath over the back of his neck and he shuddered. He didn't uncurl until the man moved away, going to take his seat back across the table. 

"We don't have to fight, kid. This can be easy. Hell, it can even be fun." John smirked at the teen. "All you have to do is be obedient. Even dogs can manage that. You can be obedient, can't you Stiles?" 

Stiles nodded quickly, unwilling to be yelled at again. 

"Good, I should think so." John said, propping his head on the table with a hand as he twirled his fork idly. "I mean, someone with a spark like yours shouldn't have any problems following a few simple orders." 

Stiles tensed so fast it was like he had been electrocuted. Staring across the table, he tried desperately to sense with the powers that Deaton assured him he had. 

John laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. "Don't give yourself a headache kid, even if sparks worked that way, I'm pretty well hidden." The sheriff blinked, his eyes filling with an inky black before he blinked again and they were back to normal. 

"The demon. You're the third demon." Stiles gasped out. "Oh my god, the third demon is in my dad." 

"Frankly, Stiles; I'm disappointed." John commented. "I took the Sheriff because I was desperate and I thought it would be fun to play with the lights and sirens. When I saw you in his memories, little spark, I figured that I wouldn't have much time. Surely you would see me hiding inside your dad like a puppet master and make me leave. But then you didn't. You didn't see a thing. Everything I said and did was different and you just accepted it. Accepted it like you deserved it. You're a little screwed up, aren't you kid?" 

"Shut up. Shut up and get out of my dad." Stiles said firmly. "Get out before I make you get out." 

"Oh, is that what you'll do?" John smiled. "Because it's not so easy to make me leave when I don't want to. In fact, it's a bit stressful on the body of my puppet. And your dad...well, he has a lot of stress already, doesn't he? I can feel it..." His hand moved to cover his chest above his heart. "Right here." 

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, his gaze fixed on his father's chest. 

"Not a lot, kid. I just want to finish the job I came for without having to run from your rabid little pack." The sheriff shrugged. "All you have to do is keep your mouth shut for a few days while I work and then I'll be out of your hair. Nobody gets hurt." 

"And my dad?"

"If you behave, little spark, he'll be fine. I'll leave and it'll go back to just him and you and your massive amount of issues." John held out hand across the table. "Sound like a plan?" 

Stiles bit his lip, thinking quickly but not coming up with a better option, reaching out he shook his father's hand. His father squeezed his hand painfully, using the grip to pull him halfway across the table. 

"Remember, _son_ , I'm not a fan of lying. If I find out that you're working against me, find out that you've tattled to your little pack...I won't hesitate to kill your father. I'll crush his heart in his chest and you'll watch him die knowing it was all your fault." 

The demon in the sheriff's body walked away, leaving Stiles sprawled over the kitchen table amid spilled orange juice and slowly congealing french toast. Stiles closed his eyes and tried very hard not to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

When Stiles was in the first grade a bully was terrorizing his school playground. Thankfully due to the nature of his personality, Stiles wasn't bullied often. He spent most of recess running off excess energy, asking questions of the teachers’ aides and chasing after pint-sized Lydia Martin. 

But other kids weren't so lucky and one afternoon Stiles watched a tiny asthmatic Scott McCall get pushed off the monkey bars. The boy’s sobs as the aides dealt with the bloody gash on his forehead disturbed Stiles and he discussed it with his parents over dinner. His law enforcement father talked about justice, authority and responsibility to report. 

Stiles mother told him that sometimes you can't wait for anyone else. Sometimes you have to cowboy up and kick some ass. 

The voice of his mother ringing in his ears, Stiles knelt in the hallway outside his father’s bedroom looking at the line of churchyard dirt he had just placed. He heard movement inside the room and stood, squaring his shoulders. The door opened to reveal the Sheriff who looked quizzically at the teen before taking in the line of dirt over the threshold.

"Really? You know I have a shift tonight." 

"My dad has a shift." Stiles spoke firmly. "And when he doesn't show up, they’re going to send someone here to check on him. You should just leave or do you want to come up with a plausible explanation for being stuck in the bedroom?” 

"Why would I bother to explain anything?" John asked, his tone bored. "I just have to wait for the well-meaning deputy to cross the line in here and then I'll kill him. Something fast like snapping his neck. Or maybe strangulation. Takes a little longer but it's so much fun." 

"You-you said you wanted to keep a low profile." Stiles gaped, shocked at the casual recitation of violence coming from his fathers' lips. 

"I also said I wanted you to be obedient." The Sheriff leaned against the doorjamb. "Does this look like obedience to you, little spark?" 

Stiles shrugged. "You never told me **not** to trap you inside your room." 

"Oh, I like you!" John laughed. "Now be a good boy and break the line so nobody has to die." 

Stiles closed his eyes and nodded, reaching out a hand mid-air to separate the line. Immediately the Sheriff rushed over the line, grabbing Stiles’ shoulders and slamming him into the far wall. Stiles gasped as his breath was knocked out of him and his heels drummed against the wall, suspended several inches over the floor. 

"You amused me, so I'm not going to punish you." John said, gripping his shoulders with bruising strength. "But don't assume I'm always going to be this nice. Watch yourself." 

He let go and Stiles slid to the floor in a heap. Pressing his hands against his chest as he tried to take in air, Stiles listened to the sounds of his father opening the gun safe, grabbing his keys and leaving out the front door. For several long minutes he waited, his body tense as he listened for any sound of the man returning. Finally he sighed, sagging into the carpet. 

"Right. One idea shot all to hell. Loads more to go." Stiles clenched his fists tightly. "I am going to kick your ass. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Sunday morning found Stiles asleep in his desk chair, face plastered on his computer keyboard and a line of gibberish entered into his google search bar. He had spent a large portion of the night googling information about demons and finding way too much misinformation and Supernatural fanfiction. 

He had used the last of his churchyard dirt making a barrier across his own doorway, giving him some small measure of peace from the demon who had taken over his father. Just the sight of the man was starting to fill Stiles with fear despite the fact that he knew it wasn't actually his dad saying and doing hurtful things. This situation needed to end as quickly as possible. 

The plan for today was reconnaissance and Stiles first stop was the vet office and its cryptic veterinarian. Dr. Deaton was busy carefully extracting thorny burs from the coat of a terrier but he motioned Stiles to come into the exam room. 

"What can I help you with today, Mr. Stilinski?" 

"I'm fresh out of churchyard dirt." Stiles shook his empty bag. "I wasn't sure if I needed to get it from you or if I could just grab a shovel and swing by the Methodist church by myself." 

"Any dirt from a church will do, but Sunday morning would be a conspicuous choice for collecting it so I'm glad you came here." Deaton looked up from his task. "You went through the supply I gave you already?" 

"You know me, lots of practicing." Stiles shrugged, giving his widest grin and hoping the vet would accept his excuse. "I wanted to make sure I could do it correctly. But I figured with the last demon on the loose, I should probably have more on hand." 

"This isn't something you need to practice, you just need to believe." Deaton told him, but nodded towards the storage room door. "Feel free to take as much as you need. You know where I keep my supplies." 

"Thanks, man." Stiles headed towards the door, still talking to the vet. "So is there really no way to separate a demon from someone without risk of death? Like a ritual or spell or potion?" 

"I'm not Harry Potter, Mr. Stilinski." Deaton replied. "If there was a safe way, I would have informed you of it." 

"I just thought that maybe we put too much pressure on you, telling you it had to be done quickly." Stiles called over his shoulder as he entered the storage room looking for the dirt. "And maybe you had an idea for a safe de-demoning that took some time?" 

"More time won't make a difference, if the demon doesn't want to go he can cause significant damage to the host body including death. It's unfortunate but it might be what you have to resort to in the end."

"What? Why?" Stiles popped out of the closet to look at the vet worriedly. "Can't we just wait him out? Won't the demon just leave on his own when he's done?" 

Deaton looked questionably at the teen. "The demon you have trapped won't be 'done' since you’ve interrupted his plans. While the timing of whatever his business here in Beacon Hills might pass, it isn't as if he's able to complete his job. The longer you have him trapped, the greater the risk is for something going wrong." 

"Right, right." Stiles bit his lip. "What sort of things might go wrong?" 

"The demon in the cafe is trapped by your circle, but all it would take is someone breaking it for him to get free." Deaton paused. "It would probably be a good idea for you to go over and redraw the line, make sure it's strong." 

"Sure, I can do that." Stiles nodded. "Make sure the little guy is still stuck inside." 

"Stiles." Dr. Deaton spoke seriously, turning to focus on the boy. "This isn't a game. If that demon gets loose, he will most likely kill whoever is on guard duty. He may go after the rest of the pack as well. And whatever job he is here in Beacon Hills to do, it isn't something we want him to finish. The missing demon is still out there, possibly killing someone as we speak." 

Stiles shuddered, the thought of his dad being forced to kill someone by the demon possessing him making him sick to his stomach. He leaned against an exam table, shaking his head. 

"Are you alright?" Deaton asked, his eyes sharp. 

"Yeah." Stiles waved him off. "Just didn't get a lot of sleep last night and skipped breakfast." 

"Get something to eat on your way to the diner. Breakfast is an important meal of the day." 

"You know, it's when you say that sort of thing that it reminds me you're a doctor." Stiles grinned. "Even if it's a doc for little furry guys." 

"Finish getting the supplies, Mr. Stilinski." Deaton said dryly. "And don't make a mess in there. Scott cleans up and I don't want to aggravate his wolf with misplaced mountain ash." 

"And it's when you say things like that it reminds me you're not normal." Stiles rolled his eyes, grabbing his supplies, his mind already on where he could find out more information. Maybe Deaton was correct and he should make a trip to the diner. 

\------------------------------------------------------

Stiles parked next to the camaro outside the abandoned diner. Staring at the black car next to him, he frowned, knowing that any questioning of the demon inside was going to need to be sneaky. Derek didn't even need to listen to his heartbeat anymore to know when he was being cagey and for the first time, Stiles wished that their relationship hadn't progressed. Back when Derek couldn't stand Stiles and Stiles was afraid of Derek, it wouldn't have taken much to throw the wolf off balance. Now that they had grown closer, now that they had started to explore just what they meant to each other...it would be nearly impossible to deceive the older man. 

Sighing heavily, Stiles got out of his jeep, grabbing the bag of dirt to start the circle. He had just started pouring, trying to line up with the circle he had made the other night when the door opened and Derek came outside. 

"Is there a problem with the circle?" 

"No, Deaton just suggested that I should reinforce it, make it stronger so there are no accidents." Stiles gave a wan smile as Derek fell into step with him as he walked around the diner. 

"How are you?" Derek asked, his tone uncomfortable. 

Stiles arched an eyebrow. "Really? We're doing small talk? I'm feeling peachy, Mr. Hale. How are you?" 

"Shut up, Stiles." Derek growled lightly, nudging shoulders with the teen. "I was just checking. You were pretty upset about stuff with your dad." 

"I..." Stiles knew he failed at keeping his cool when Derek paused, staring at him closely. Stiles wasn't sure if it had been his heart or his breathing that had betrayed him but he shook it off. "I gotta concentrate here, dude. No chatting while I'm working." 

Derek raised his hands with a smirk. "Alright, I'll be inside when you're done." 

Stiles watched Derek go and started giving himself a mental pep talk. It wasn't as if he was lying to Derek, more like withholding information. Derek wasn't going to come out and ask if the missing third demon was hiding out in the Sheriff, so as long as Stiles could keep his mouth shut maybe this situation could play itself out without destroying their fledging relationship. He nodded firmly to himself and headed inside, a game plan forming in his head. 

"So, it's close to lunchtime. Have you guys eaten yet?" Stiles asked, sketching a wave to where Derek stood next to Isaac. "I think you should go get burgers or something. I'll hold down the fort. I just redid the line so we are at full power and it's a good chance for the two of you to bond. Alpha and beta, man and boy, frowny face and puppy face." 

"Stiles?" Derek looked oddly at the rambling teen. 

"I am pretty hungry." Isaac mentioned. "But I can wait here if you two want to go out to eat. Just bring me back a couple of burgers." 

"No!" Stiles yelped, looking between the two werewolves. "I think you should go with Derek. You guys don't hang out together doing normal stuff enough. Plus I don't want to eat right now." 

"You always want curly fries." Derek smirked. "You can ride along and we'll just grab take-out and come back." 

"I don't want to go with you, Derek!" Stiles blurted out, his eyes wide as he watched a hurt expression flit over Derek's face. "Wait...I mean..." 

"That wasn't a lie." Derek said flatly, turning and slamming out the front door. Stiles stared at it for several long moments, wishing he could just explain what was going on. 

"Are - are you two fighting?" Isaac asked from behind Stiles, his voice timid. "Because I'm not really all that hungry." 

Stiles closed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. "It's not your fault, Isaac. I'm just having a bad couple of days and I took it out on Derek. We'll be fine." 

"Good." Isaac nodded. "The two of you are much easier to handle when you're getting along." 

"Oh, I see how it is!" Stiles chuckled. "You're a devious little micromanager." 

Isaac shrugged, blushing a little. "Maybe. But mostly it's because you two are happier now." 

Stiles heart sunk a little, gazing back at the front door. A movement from where the demon was restrained in a booth gained his attention and he turned to see the man speaking to Isaac. 

"Aww, don't worry, little pup. Even if Mommy and Daddy don't live together anymore, I'm sure they both still love you." The demon rasped out, laughing at Isaac's glower. 

"Hey! Don't you-" Stiles started to yell at the demon before Isaac walked calmly over and slammed his hand into the demon's temple, knocking him unconscious instantly. "What the hell, Isaac?" 

"Don't worry." Isaac said, arranging the demon's head so that it was leaning back against the cushioned booth. "Doctor Deaton taught us how to do it humanely." 

"The vet taught you how to punch people into unconsciousness...humanely." Stiles repeated back. "That's...that's just great. Just great! How long is he going to be out?" 

"A couple of hours, give or take." Isaac said, taking a few steps closer to the teen. "It's no big deal, Stiles. It's not like we need him for anything." 

"Oh god." Stiles exhaled frantically. He had no idea what to do now and when he went to inhale, his breath wheezed worryingly in his chest. Isaac went to take another step closer but the diner door burst inward and suddenly Derek was standing in front of the hyperventilating teen. 

"Stiles, what's wrong? What happened?" Derek asked, worried when the teen couldn't answer. He turned to Isaac, who was fretting beside him. "What happened?" 

"Nothing!" Isaac yelped. "We were just talking and I knocked out the demon." 

The two wolves could clearly hear Stiles heartbeat race at the statement and Derek frowned, leaning down to catch his gaze. "You know Isaac won't hurt you, right?" 

"I won't, Stiles! I'm sorry." Isaac cried out frantically.

"No, no, no." Stiles wheezed out as he tried to breathe. "Not Isaac. Just. Need air. Please." 

Derek wrapped an arm around his waist and started heading for the door, supporting most of Stiles weight as he hustled them outside and across to his car. He propped Stiles on the trunk, standing between his knees with his hands pressed on the warm metal. "What do you need, Stiles? How can I help?" 

Stiles leaned his head forward until it was knocking against Derek's breastbone. "Talk to me about something normal. My head...I can't. Just say stuff that's not demons and sparks and wolves." 

There was a pause and then Derek's voice rumbled out, and Stiles let the words wash over him, just letting the rise and fall of Derek's chest soothe his panicking body. The heat of the sun warmed his back but it was Derek’s presence that gave him the most comfort and for a long time, Stiles let himself get lost in the fantasy that the world was just the two of them, entwined together in the afternoon sun. 

Enough time passed for Derek's voice to become slightly hoarse and Stiles forced his mind to wake up and he nuzzled into the t-shirt covered chest in front of him. Derek's voice trailed off as he noticed Stiles' awareness. 

"Calipers? You were talking about brakes?" Stiles mumbled into Derek's chest tiredly, not wanting to move. 

"Boyd wants me show him how to fix the brakes on his mom's van."

"That's nice of you." 

"Not really. It's been nice to have him drive Isaac and Erica around. I don't want to go back to using the camaro as a carpool." 

"I thought you were cute as a soccer mom." Stiles grinned, turning his head so he could grin up at Derek. 

"You're ridiculous." Derek rolled his eyes before leaning back a little. "Now that you're done deflecting, want to talk to me about what just happened?" 

Stiles tried to shimmy out of Derek's arms and failed. "You know it just happens sometimes." 

"Most of the time there's a reason. Is something besides this demon thing going on?" When Stiles didn't answer, Derek sighed. "Aren't you the one always telling me to use my words? Is this about the third demon?" 

Stiles jolted so hard that he jerked out of Derek's arms, his breath caught in his throat as he panicked, trying to remember if he had let anything slip. 

"Whoa!" Derek reached out for him, holding him still. "Calm down, it’s okay. I figured this was what you were stressing over." 

"You d-d-did?" 

"Yeah and it's not a big deal. It's not your fault. You didn't get the line finished but we should have kept everyone inside the diner and Peter should have been able to hold him in place longer. It's not your fault he got away." 

Stiles stared dumbly at Derek, he couldn't decide if he was shocked at how far off the mark the guess was or touched by how sweet it was for Derek to reassure him. Stiles floundered for something, anything to say. He was scared to tell Derek what was happening with his dad in case the demon followed through with his threats, but he was almost as scared not to tell and not have Derek there to help him get through this situation. Closing his eyes, he shrugged. "I just hate that he got away."

Derek moved to sit next to Stiles on the trunk of the car, their shoulders brushing. "You made a good plan, Stiles; you usually do. It isn't your fault if they don't always work out. You need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself."

Stiles huffed a laugh, looking at Derek with his eyebrow raised. "Hello pot, this is the kettle calling." 

"Deflecting." Derek frowned. "We're not talking about me right now." 

"You're not the boss of me." 

Derek knew him well enough to know that he was being set up and he obliged, growling lowly in his throat and letting the bright red of his eyes shine through. "I'm the alpha." 

Stiles laughed in spite of himself. "That you are. I'm tired of talking. Let's go get Isaac some dinner before his stomach eats itself." 

Derek watched the teen hop off the car and head for the passenger side door. He didn't miss the fact that Stiles had ended the conversation without talking much but Derek was going to let it go for now. He was sure that if Stiles was in real trouble, he would come to the pack for help.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles heads back to school but can he keep his secret from the rest of the pack?

Grabbing his backpack off his desk, Stiles carefully stepped over the line of churchyard dirt in his doorway making sure it stayed in place. He eyed his fathers closed bedroom door thankfully, happy that he seemed to beat him out of bed this morning. As much as Stiles didn't want to have to deal with not being able to go to his friends for help, he was looking forward to school. Or at least he was looking forward to a whole day where he didn't have to deal with the demon inside his father. 

"Good morning, son!" The cheery call came from the kitchen and Stiles faltered as he came down the stairs, eyeing the front door longingly. He was just about to make a break for it when his dad appeared in the hallway waving a set of familiar jeep keys. "I'll be taking you to school this morning, so come on in and have a seat. I made breakfast!" 

"I can drive myself, you know." Stiles said cautiously as he edged his way into the kitchen, avoiding the sheriff as he took a seat at the table. Looking at his plate he frowned. "Bacon? You're eating bacon? Do you know what that's going to do to your arteries?" 

The sheriff shot him a look and Stiles raised his hands defensively. "Never mind, you can eat whatever you want." 

"Good boy." 

"I mean, it's not like you're inhabiting someone else’s body or anything. Feel free to just dump as much junk into your illegally gotten body and then swan off to leave my dad with high cholesterol." Stiles muttered, staring at his plate. 

"You just don't know when to stop, do you kid?" The sheriff stood and walked around the table. "That mouth of yours is a problem." 

"Uh, it's a bad habit." Stiles winced, eyeing the approaching man. "Very little brain-to-mouth control." 

"Let's change that habit." John patted Stiles lightly on the shoulder as he moved to stand behind him. Leaning down he gripped the boy’s shoulders tightly, slamming him back against the back of the chair. "I'm sure I can help you can some control over that mouth of yours, little spark." 

Stiles cried out in pain and tried to wrench away. "Stop!" 

"What do you say, son?" 

Stiles shook his head, balking at the idea of capitulating to the demon inside his father. The grip on his shoulders increased to the point where he felt like he could feel his bones creaking and he broke, crying out. "God okay, stop. I'm sorry!" 

The sheriff released his shoulders. "See, that wasn't so hard." He patted Stiles shoulders lightly but even that pressure felt painful enough that Stiles whimpered. "Now, get a move on or you'll be late for school." 

"I...I can drive to school on my own." Stiles said quietly. "If you're busy or something." 

"How polite." John smirked. "The problem is, you can't be trusted on your own. I left you to your own devices yesterday and the first thing you do is go to that sneaky little vet and then off to hang out with that mangy alpha." 

"You followed me?" 

The sheriff pointed at himself, grinning. "Bad guy. Following you isn't the worst thing I've done. Imagine my surprise when you go and spend time with the very people who you shouldn't be talking to." 

"I didn't tell them anything!" Stiles protested. "I had to go to Deaton's to get more ash for the diner because Derek, **my alpha** , asked me to come help. I'm a part of the pack. If I ignore them completely it'll look weird." 

"You know, I wondered why you would choose to spend time with those fleabags but then I saw you canoodling with the alpha. Interesting choice there, son." 

"We were not canoodling!" Stiles shook his head. "What the heck is canoodling?" 

"Trust me kid, you know it well based on what I was seeing on the hood of his car. It looked like you were going to jump right into his lap. Are you sure you're ready to be that serious?" 

"It's not...we're going slow. I've never been in a relationship before and Derek's got some major trust issues so we decided to just test the wate- oh my god, no! Nope. You are not my dad and we are not having this conversation."

"Oh, your dad was surprised to see you with the mutt." The sheriff smirked at Stiles shocked face. "You didn't know that daddy dearest could hear you? He's inside, all snug like a bug in a rug." 

"Dad!" Stiles leaned forward, his gaze hopeful. "I'm here, okay, I'm going to fix this! I love you, Dad!" 

"Wow. That's so touching." The sheriff rolled his eyes. "I almost shed a tear." 

Stiles turned his back swiftly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. It felt like he had finally made contact with his father and despite not getting any response back, he was filled with hope. He jumped as the Sheriff slapped his back harshly as he walked past him out the kitchen door. 

"Don't look so happy, little spark." The sheriff called behind him. "We're going to spend some quality time on the way to school talking about potential consequences of your actions. Come on, it should be fun." 

\------------------------------------------

"What's up with your dad?" Scott asked as Stiles entered the school. "He looked angry and he didn't wave back at me. I know I haven't done anything illegal lately." 

"He was just...preoccupied." Stiles explained quietly. In fact, the ride to school had been spent listening to the demon inside his father describe how he would kill each person in the pack. He had been through...and inventive. Stiles blanched, recalling some of the tortuous methods that had painted an all too vivid picture. 

"Are you alright?" Alison asked, stepping close to place her hand on Stiles forehead. "You seem off." 

Stiles allowed the hand for a moment before stepping back. "Just tired. How is everyone doing after a weekend of demon hunting?" 

"More tired than you, Stilinski;" Jackson sneered. "Since you bailed on us." 

"That's because I thought you had it handled, Jackson. Or did you turn out to be a big old failwolf?" 

Jackson growled, darting forward and Stiles flinched, ducking his head down and curling his body. The movement was startling enough that Jackson and Isaac both noticed but the others seemed to be too occupied arguing with each other. 

"Stiles?" Isaac stepped closer, half blocking Jackson. "You okay?" 

"Pffft." Stiles forced himself to stand up straight, trying to blow off his reaction. "Just didn't want to get beat on by a douchey werewolf first thing Monday morning." 

"You shouldn't dish it out unless you can take it." Jackson told him, though his eyes met Isaac's worriedly. 

"Blah blah, always violence with you guys. You'd think it's in your DNA....oh wait." 

"Funny." Scott deadpanned. "Come on, let's get to class. Wait, where's your backpack?" 

"Forgot it at home." Stiles lied, hoping none of the wolves were paying attention to his heartbeat. "Figured I'd carry my books by hand today like they did during ye olden times." 

The group all laughed as they headed off to class and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten through the first test of the day without tipping anyone off to what was happening in his life. The next major test would be lunch since that was the next time the whole pack was together. Stiles didn't think he'd have any problem distracting them on a one-one-one basis in class since if there is one thing that Stiles Stilinski excelled at, it was talking circles around people. 

Stiles spent the rest of the morning doing equal amounts of learning and lying. While he had always had a fluid relationship with the truth, today made him feel like a heel as he lied to everyone. He spun tales to Scott about what he had done over the weekend, and to Alison about working things out with his dad. He lied to Erica about bailing on hunting, and Boyd about his plans after school. 

By the time it was time for lunch, Stiles was seriously contemplating ditching the rest of the day. Of course he couldn't as his super clingy demonized dad was expecting to pick him up outside of school and Stiles **actively** didn't want to disobey again. He gave a shudder at the thought of more punishment and he saw Isaac peer closely at him from the table. 

"You look pale and you just shivered. Are you sick?" 

Isaac's question caught the attention of everyone at the table and they all turned to look at the teen. Stiles frowned at them and pushed forward to take a seat, his tone sharp. "Thanks for that, Doctor Lahey but I didn't really ask for a diagnosis." 

"PMSing, Stilinski?" Jackson asked before being hit in the arm by Lydia. "What? You have to admit he's cranky. Who yells at Isaac?" 

"It's fine, I shouldn't have asked." Isaac murmured and while Stiles didn't look, he could feel the glares of the pack directed solely at him. 

"Jackson's right." Stiles shrugged. "I'm really cranky today and you totally don't deserve me hulking out on you." 

"Don't you mean wolfing out?" Scott teased, making the others laugh. "Are you sure the moon isn't affecting you these days?" 

"I just run with wolves, Scott, I'm not actually one of you." Stiles gave a small smile. "Speaking of which, what's the plan for guarding our caged demon during the full moon?" 

"Derek wants us over at his house after school for a pack meeting." Boyd volunteered from the end of the table. "We'll be going over plans then." 

"Uh..." Stiles fought for a reasonable excuse. "Not going to be able to make it. The jeep's out of commission." 

"Don't worry about it, Stiles. You can ride with us." Lydia offered, pointing at Jackson.

"The thing is my dad said he's going to pick me up." Stiles tried next, dismayed when he saw Lydia shaking her head. 

"Just call him and tell him you don't need a ride. We'll take you-" 

"I can't!" Stiles shouted, standing up so quickly his chair almost tipped over. "God, you people, don't you listen to anything I say? I can't go, drop it." 

The lunchroom was still as most of the student body stared in shock at Stiles outburst. His friends all looked at him like he was a different person and after a moment, Stiles turned, leaving the cafeteria in a rush. 

The pack stared after their friend before looking at each other. Isaac met Scott's eyes across the table. "Something is wrong. We need to talk to Derek." 

\--------------------------------------------

The drive home with his dad had been much easier since the trip wasn't spent listening to creative ways that all his friends would die. The sheriff had taken Stiles home and left him there with specific instructions to 'sit, stay, don't cause trouble.' The funny and oddly disturbing fact was that Stiles was almost grateful for the order. Everything was such a struggle and Stiles didn't know what his next was, so the knowledge that he knew where he had to be for the next several hours seemed almost a comfort. 

"Great, I'm developing Stockholm Syndrome." Stiles sighed, lying prone on his bedroom floor. He had started out researching, skipped over to school work and then to video games before finally giving up any pretense of productivity. Now he was just lying there having a tiny pity party. "As if I didn't have enough issues." 

"Most people who talk to themselves have issues." A dry voice interrupted and Stiles bolted upright, turning to see Derek climbing into his window. 

"Shit, Derek, you can't be here!" Stiles scrambled to his bedroom door, looking down to make sure the line of dirt was intact. "The - I mean, my dad is going to be off duty soon." 

"I'm keeping an ear out for him, don't worry." Derek said, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk. "I won't stay long." 

"He'll know." Stiles insisted. "Why are you here anyway? Wasn't today a pack meeting day?" 

"Yes it was, which is strange since a member of the pack wasn't there." Derek commented, his eyebrow arched. "Even stranger is the fact that the rest of the pack spent the entire time talking about this missing member’s strange behavior." 

Stiles tucked shaking hands into his pockets and drew back his shoulders. "That sounds troubling. You shouldn't let the pack take over meetings like that, exert some lead-" 

"Stiles." Derek barked, taking a step closer. "What is going on with you?" 

"N-n-nothing is going on with me." Stiles stuttered, taking a step backwards. 

Derek stopped his advance and he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I didn't want to have to do this. I want to trust you, Stiles, but I know you're lying to me." He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a ziploc baggie of dirt. "Peter said this worked the other night, that the demon was hurt by it. So I'm giving you one last chance here. Tell the truth or get a face full of this." 

Stiles looked between the baggie and Derek's face in confusion. "Tell the truth about what?" 

"You're the missing third demon, aren't you?"


	9. Chapter 9

_Derek stopped his advance and he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I didn't want to have to do this. I want to trust you, Stiles, but I know you're lying to me." He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a ziploc baggie of dirt. "Peter said this worked the other night, that the demon was hurt by it. So I'm giving you one last chance here. Tell the truth or get a face full of this."_

_Stiles looked between the baggie and Derek's face in confusion. "Tell the truth about what?"_

_"You're the missing third demon, aren't you?"_

Stiles stared at Derek for a long pause before he burst out laughing. Not a chuckle or giggle but full on, belly-busting laughter. He actually tipped forward a little, holding his abdomen as he let go and literally laughed in Derek's face. 

"Do you think this is a joke?" Derek growled, stepping forward and shoving Stiles up against the wall. Stiles sucked in a breath as his bruised shoulders smacked into the wall and he shook his head. 

"N-n-no." Stiles giggled. "I know it's not a joke. Seriously. It's just...you really think I'm possessed?" 

"You're acting strange." Derek said, shaking the baggie of dirt. "Prove to me that demonic possession isn't the reason why." 

"Our lives are so strange." Stiles sighed and shoved at Derek till he let him go. Straightening out his shirt, Stiles made a grabby motion. "Fine, hand me the bag." 

Derek eyed him seriously before handing over the bag and Stiles wasted no time in sticking his hand inside and grabbing the dirt. "See? No ouchies!" He waved his hand at Derek who slapped it away. 

"You're not the demon." 

"God, don't sound so depressed that I'm not possessed." Stiles smirked. "Hey, that rhymed." 

"Stiles, something is wrong with you." Derek tossed the bag of dirt on Stiles desk as he paced. "You've been ditching pack stuff, you had a panic attack yesterday, Jackson said you were frightened of him at school today and you yelled at Isaac and Lydia." 

"Good job summarizing, Derek." 

"Bad job deflecting, Stiles." Derek countered. "What is going on with you?" 

"It's fine, just stress from school and-" 

"Liar." Derek said flatly. 

Stiles heartbeat stuttered as his mind substituted his dad sneering that same accusation and he stumbled back away from Derek. 

"Stiles?" Derek's voice broke Stiles out of his thoughts and he blinked up at the older man. "You with me?" 

"Y-yeah." Stiles shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. 

"What was that?" Derek's voice was concerned and he was keeping his distance, like he thought Stiles would bolt at any second. 

"Just reminded me of someone else." 

"Someone who scared you." Derek observed. "You looked and smelled scared." 

Stiles shrugged, sitting on his bed. "No use trying to pass anything by your nose." 

"I don't like smelling fear on you." Derek moved slowly to take a seat next to him. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" 

"I can't." Stiles whispered, shaking his head. "I really can't talk about it." 

"I'm your alpha." Derek sighed, reaching out and putting a hand on the back of Stiles neck, pulling him close. "I'm your boyfriend, Stiles. You're supposed to come to me when you need help." 

Stiles turned his head and spoke into Derek's neck, his voice muffled. "I know and I'm sorry. I just can't tell you this. I can't right now. Please don't hate me." 

"Of course I don't hate you." Derek chided, rubbing the teen's back. "I think you're making a mistake, but I don't hate you. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here." 

"Thank you." Stiles whispered, clutching handfuls of Derek's coat for as long as he dared. Finally he pulled back, his cheeks flushed. "You should go, before my dad gets back." 

Derek nodded and he leaned forward to press his lips against Stiles softly before heading for the window. "Just remember, Stiles, you don't have to do this alone." 

Stiles waited till he was sure Derek was far away before flopping back onto his bed. "Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I do." 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

Every other Tuesday, Melissa McCall spent her night off work making way an insane amount of tamales. It had started years ago when Mrs. Stilinski convinced her husband to let Melissa sell the tamales down at the sheriff's office for extra cash after Scott's father had bailed. After she had gotten the job at the hospital, she didn't need the money any longer but the tradition had stayed and she still delivered several orders of her tamales to the sheriff's department twice a month, now free of charge. 

At the start tamale night had been her and Mrs. Stilinski and their boys, laughing and being messy in the McCall's spacious kitchen. As years went by and Mrs. Stilinski had passed away, the Sheriff sometimes joined Stiles when he came for tamale night and though it wasn't the same, they still enjoyed their time together. 

The past year had seen her spending a lot of tamale nights alone, or just with her and the sheriff carefully folding corn husks around the kitchen table. The two single parents had attributed their son’s disinterest in growing up, but Melissa knew the truth, that their world was different now, filled with werewolves and hunters and weird lizard things. She didn't exactly like what their world had become lately, but she was proud of them for fighting for what was right. 

Which was she was surprised to open her door this Tuesday night and find both the Sheriff and Stiles standing on her porch, the younger holding flowers. "John, Stiles, come on in." She took the flowers with distracted thanks as she looked at the duo. "You know Scott is out tonight...uh...practicing." 

"You didn't tell me you had lacrosse practice, son." The sheriff said, staring at his son who shrugged a little. "Just as well, since you got yourself grounded." 

"Grounded?" Melissa asked, trying to catch Stiles eye to apologize. She knew that Scott was with the pack and hadn't meant to cause a problem with Stiles and his father. 

"Yes, he's being punished so we can't make it tonight." The sheriff said, prodding Stiles forward with a sharp finger in his side. "Stiles would like to apologize to you." 

"Uh, yeah." Stiles jerked forward at the poke and rubbed his side lightly. He spoke as if he was reading off a cue card, or reciting something he had memorized. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. McCall. I didn't mean to...to disrupt your evening with my bad behavior." 

"Whoa." Melissa arched an eyebrow and looked around Stiles to see his dad. "Are you sure he hasn't been taking over by a pod person?" 

Stiles and his father both gave the same surprised laugh at that and then stared at each other awkwardly. Melissa eyed them both for a moment before speaking. "Thanks for the apology, Stiles, but I'm a little bit thrown off. You haven't been to tamale night in months." 

There was a pause and Melissa could have sworn that the sheriff's eyes were filled with rage before his face smoothed out. He put a hand around Stiles bicep and pulled him backwards a little, giving Melissa a smile. "Well, even with that, he still needed to be aware of the consequences of his behavior." The man looked down at his son sternly. "Consequences that affect others." 

"I tried to tell you! I'm sorry!" Stiles whispered quietly and Melissa blinked at the fear she heard in the tone. She had heard Stiles Stilinski apologize to his father a lot over the years but she had never heard him sounding so scared. 

"Are you two okay?" 

"We're fine." The sheriff said shortly and then shook his head, giving her a soft smile. "Just father - son stuff, right?" 

Stiles turned his body slightly so Melissa wouldn't see where the Sheriff was digging his fingers into his bicep and tried to give her a smile. "Yeah, father - son stuff. Sorry again, Mrs. M." 

"It's alright, Stiles." Melissa said softly. "I'll send Scott with some tamales for you tomorrow at school." 

"You have a good night, Melissa." The sheriff said smoothly as he hustled Stiles out the door, his grip still firm on the teens arm. 

Melissa headed back into the kitchen, wondering just what was wrong with her son’s best friend. 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Chris and Allison Argent were loading groceries in the back of their cart late Wednesday evening with the Stilinski's wandered past. 

"Good evening Chris, Allison." Sheriff Stilinski said, smiling and holding out a hand to shake. "Nice to see you both." 

"You too, Sheriff." Chris said, shaking his hand. He gave Stiles a nod, assuming the boy's wide eyed stare was because he thought his supernatural life might be outed to his father. "You and Stiles out grocery shopping too?" 

"Please, call me John." The sheriff stated and placed a hand on Stiles shoulder, using the grip to pull the boy into his side. "Actually, Stiles here is helping me out on the job tonight. Aren't you, son?" 

Stiles ducked his head, trying to hide the wince that the tight grip on his shoulder caused, and nodded. 

Allison looked worriedly at her friend. "Did you study for that quiz in Chemistry tomorrow? Harris always grades your quizzes extra hard." 

Stiles didn't answer until his father gave him a slight shake and he blurted out a quick "yes." 

"He'll have plenty of time to study tonight and sticking with me will keep him out of trouble." The sheriff smirked down at his son. "By the way, Chris, we're thinking of updating some of the weapons down at the station. I'm assuming you're still happy to deal with the sheriff's department?" 

"Always happy to supply the local law enforcement," Chris nodded. "Want me to come by the station tomorrow?" 

"Around four works best for me." John agreed and held out his hand to shake again. "See you then and you two have a great night." 

"Bye Stiles!" Allison called as the Sheriff walked away, tugging the boy behind him. Stiles threw a semi-panicked look over his shoulder at the two before the father and son were out of sight. Allison looked up at her dad and he sighed, rubbing his face. 

"I'm guessing that a mostly mute Stiles is a bad sign, isn't it?" 

"He's been off all week, Dad. He freaked on Monday and he's been avoiding us since then." Allison commented, her eyes sad. "Nobody knows what's wrong with him. Maybe you could talk to his dad about it tomorrow?" 

"I don't know that the Sheriff would talk to me about his kid, but I'll give it a shot." Chris said, putting a hand on his daughters back to encourage her to move. "Now let's get going before your ice cream melts." 

\----------------------------------------------------


	10. Chapter 10

"I want to hear you say it again." Sheriff Stilinski sat at the kitchen table Thursday morning, sipping on a cup of coffee as he watched his son perch on a chair across from him. "And no sarcasm this time, little spark, these punishments are getting tedious." 

Stiles reached up, his fingertips tracing the faint bruise on his cheekbone that the demon had given him most recently. "Right, I go to school and keep my mouth shut. I don't raise suspicions with the pack. After school I drive to Allison's street and wait for her father to leave for his meeting with you. I break in, find a bronze dagger with a circle at the hilt, and get out. I bring it directly to you." 

"Good job." The sheriff stood and went to dump his coffee cup in the sink. "Let's get you to school." 

Stiles stood slowly, the stress and abuse of the past week starting to take a toll on his body. He jerked to the side when his father stopped in front of him, looking up petulantly. "What now?" 

The sheriff gripped Stiles chin in his hand firmly. "Finish it, son. What happens if you mess up? If you don't get the dagger? If any of your little pack finds out?" 

"You'll kill them. All of them." Stiles recited dully. "Then you'll kill me and my dad." 

"That's my boy." The sheriff patted Stiles on the cheek heavily and headed out the door. "Time's a wasting, kiddo. Get in the car." 

Stiles waited till his dad left the room and slowly opened his fists, looking at the bright red half-moon shaped marks he had left in his hand. "Don't worry, Dad. This’ll all be over soon." 

\------------------------------------------

"Derek Hale has lied to all of you." Allison frowned, looking over the pack of werewolves lounging in an empty classroom. "There are clowns are who are more subtle than you wolves. Actual clowns from an actual circus." 

Scott looked sheepishly at his girlfriend, running a hand through his hair. "I thought we were doing a pretty good job?" 

"Really, McCall?" Jackson spoke up from where he was leaning against a lab table. "Your idea of hiding from Stiles was to hold your backpack in front of your face." 

"You pushed some kid into his locker as a distraction!" Scott replied hotly. "At least I didn't injure anyone while I was following Stiles!" 

"You both did better than Isaac." Erica laughed, sharpening her nails idly. "Nothing beats Isaac diving into the janitor’s closet." 

"Not funny, Erica. I showered twice and I still smell like mop." 

"The point -" Allison interrupted their laughter, "is that Stiles knows that we're following him around school which defeats the purpose. If we're going to find out what's wrong with him, then you all need to work harder." 

"Hey!" Jackson looked around. "Why aren't Lydia and Boyd here?" 

"Boyd is on Stiles duty right now." Allison told him shortly. "Lydia is exempt from the meeting because she doesn't need any help." 

"She's that sneaky?" Scott asked dubiously.

"Nope." Erica shook her head. "She’s just manipulative and popular. Lydia has an entire network of desperate people willing to do her every bidding." 

Isaac shuddered lightly. "That's...terrifying." 

"Enough chatter." Allison clapped her hands, channeling her best tough voice. "In the next 25 minutes you're going to learn how to be sneaky or I will use you for target practice when I buy my next bow." 

The wolves lined up, ready to learn and Jackson leaned over to mutter to Scott. "Your girlfriend has balls, McCall." 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The blue jeep was at the edge of the school parking lot, catching the shade from the trees in the nearby woods. A piece of notebook paper was taped to the window stating in block letters: "NO WOLVES ALLOWED". Derek rolled his eyes as he approached the jeep and he looked into the window to see the two front seats reclined and Stiles sprawled across them, his eyes closed. 

Knocking on the window, Derek watched as Stiles turned his face away, half hiding it under his hand. "Open up, Stiles. I know you're awake." 

"Dude, read the sign. This is a supernatural-free napping zone for the next 45 minutes." Stiles muttered, keeping his eyes closed.

"Don't you have class?" Derek asked, trying the handle on the door. 

"I've got study hall after lunch." Stiles peeked open an eye to glare at Derek. "Which you know, so don't pull the whole 'concerned about your academics' routine." 

Derek eyed the bruise that his pack had told him about, the faint purple highlighting one cheekbone. "What happened to your face?" 

"What happened to yours?" Stiles snarked. "I don't feel like playing 20 questions today. Go away.” 

"The pack says your heart has been pounding all day." Derek said seriously. "You smell anxious, like you're on the edge of a panic attack." 

Stiles leaned up on his elbows, meeting Derek's eyes through the window. "Thanks for the health update? There wasn't really a question in there." 

"I wasn't asking anything. I'm telling you." 

"Well…good, Derek. This has been an interesting yet useless conversation." 

"Stiles, please open the door." 

Stiles flopped back down, covering his face with his hands. "Don't say please, okay. It's like my kryptonite and I really can't let you in." 

"I won't ask you any questions. I won't tell you what I'm smelling on you. I just...I miss you, Stiles." 

"I miss you too." Stiles whispered from behind his hands. "But-" 

"I won't talk and I'll wake you when it's time for you to go back to class. Just -" Derek placed his hand on the window pleadingly. "Just open the door, Stiles. Please." 

Stiles breathed out heavily, the sound close to a sob as he shifted to unlock the door and then moved to make room for the older man. Derek slid onto the reclined seat and then wrapped his arms around Stiles, drawing him close. "Go ahead and sleep, I’m right here.” 

Derek kept his promise to not ask questions and he kept up a steady stream of gentle touches, but neither of them slept. Stiles twisted handfuls of Derek's t-shirt in his fists and closed his eyes, his head and heart fighting on whether this was a comfort or a danger. When Derek murmured that their time was up, Stiles just nodded, unclenched his fists and walked back into school. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

When Stiles was ten years old, a cat burglar was plaguing Beacon Hills. Sheriff Stilinski was working extra shifts and as the summer months stretched on with no arrests, his young son decided that cat burglary seemed both lucrative and risk-free. Putting aside his aspirations to become Batman/Fireman, Stiles decided he wanted to become a cat burglar. 

He dressed in all black, wore his dad's ski mask and he practiced slinking around in the bushes of his neighborhood. His mother thought it was hilarious and left out costume jewelry and her old field hockey trophies on windowsills for Stiles to 'steal'. Predictably, the Sheriff didn't share in his spouses’ amusement over Stiles hero worship of a criminal; and he spent hours talking with the boy about all the ways that thieves were caught by hard working law enforcement officers. 

Stiles listened very carefully and then used that knowledge to learn to be a better thief. 

His crowning achievement was when he swiped the entire container of homemade cookies from Melissa McCall’s kitchen counter. Of course, it was also his last achievement as a thief when Scott and Stiles were caught cookie-handed and giggling in the shed behind the Stilinski house. The boys were grounded, the ski mask and black clothes were taken away and Stiles career as an aspiring cat burglar was at an end.

Hiding in the bushes in the Argent's backyard, Stiles tried to remember the skills he learned as a pint-sized thief. Even in the bright afternoon sunshine, the Argent house loomed over him like an upper middle class fortress. It might be a normal looking house in a nice neighborhood full of other similarly well landscaped beige-sided homes, but Stiles knew the house was different than any of the others. It held a basement ready for torture, a garage full of weapons and knowing his luck...some sort of cage to catch intruders. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about the alarm. The demon inside his dad had told him how to cut the exterior power to the system and Stiles dug in his pocket for the tools he brought along. As he inched from his hiding place to the circuit box, Stiles wished that he’d worn something darker than a 'Han Shot First' t-shirt under his red hoodie. After cutting the wires, he headed for the nearest window and silently bemoaned not tracking down his old ski mask. 

"Yes!" Stiles whispered as he hit the carpeted floor under the window he had shimmied through, and no alarm sounded. "Score one for cat burglars everywhere." 

Looking around what appeared to be a home office, Stiles couldn't see any weapons. He didn't exactly think the Argents had guns and knives on every wall in the house...but, okay, he sort of thought it would be like that. A little gun show action in all the rooms with maybe a werewolf head mounted over the fireplace. 

"Oh, ugh. I just creeped myself out." Stiles stuck his head out the office door to look into the living room and checked out the mantle. "Well you won't get any points for interior decorating, Argent, but at least no dead wolves." 

Moving from room to room, Stiles checked downstairs before deciding to do the second level. He really, really didn't want to check the basement. In fact he was operating on a firm level of denial right now and ignoring that a basement even existed. Nope, the Argent house was built on a concrete slab just like mobile homes in Oklahoma. 

A fleeting thought of a tornado spinning the Argent house into the air with Gerard screeching about 'getting your little dog too' distracted Stiles and he shook his head. "Note to self, load up on the Adderall before the next B&E." 

There were three doors in the master bedroom and after Stiles opened the door to a closet and the bathroom, the next door he opened was to a small room filled with weapons. "Jackpot!" 

Scrambling through the numerous knifes, daggers and the occasional disturbing machete, Stiles had just laid his hands on the dagger he was looking for when he heard the front door open. 

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Stiles chanted in a whisper as he rushed out of the weapons closet. Looking around the room he decided against jumping out the window because he wasn't a werewolf, against hiding under the bed because of horror movies and against hiding in the closet because he wasn't in an R. Kelly video. His only option was to sneak back downstairs so he crept into the hall, his ears straining to hear anything beyond his own pounding heart. 

Downstairs, he could hear someone in the kitchen running water and clinking dishes together. Figuring that being quick was better than being sneaky, he took off down the stairs as quietly as he could, keeping his gaze on the kitchen doorway. Sliding a bit as he hit the hardwood floor of the living room, Stiles swung into the shadowy hallway and plastered himself against the wall. The kitchen was past the dining room on the opposite side of the house from the office window Stiles had climbed through, so he was pretty much home free. 

Until he saw the knob of the front door turn slowly and watched his father slip into the house. Stiles groaned mentally and tried to wave his arms to get the man's attention. When his father saw him, they engaged in a brief moment of charades that neither seemed to understand. The sheriff was just about to head across the room when the water in the kitchen shut off. 

"Out! Get out!" Stiles whispered as quietly as he could, waving his arms even as he ducked behind a potted plant in possibly his worst attempt at hide and seek ever. He watched in dismay as Chris Argent left the kitchen and headed directly towards him. Panic making his heart race, Stiles was just about to stand up and try talking his way out of it when the Sheriff used his baton to strike Chris hard across the back of the head. The hunter fell, his body limp and Stiles watched his head strike the floor with enough strength to split the skin at the temple. 

"Oh my god." Stiles breathed out in shock, watching blood start to collect under Argent's slack face. "Oh my god! What the - oh my god!" 

"You're stuck in a loop there, kid." Sheriff Stilinski said mildly, stepping over the body on the floor. 

"Did you kill him? Is he dead?" Stiles asked, rushing forward and dropping on his knees next to the man. He put two fingers on his neck and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse. "Thank you, sweet baby jesus. What the heck where you thinking? Why are you even here?" 

"I was here to help you, ungrateful brat." John yanked the teen up off the floor, slamming him against the banister. "Argent left early and I was concerned about you getting caught." 

"You were concerned about me not getting the dagger, you mean." Stiles snarked back before crying out when the man slammed him back again.

"Manners, son. Now where's the dagger?" 

Stiles moved to take the dagger from his belt when a moan came from behind them. The father and son both turned to see Argent shifting slightly, not quite awake yet. Sheriff Stilinski dropped his son and headed towards the man, his hand unsnapping the holster at his waist. 

"NO!" Stiles yelled, scrambling forward fast enough that he landed almost right on top of Chris. Covering the body with his own, he glared up at his dad. "You are not shooting Allison's dad. You're not shooting anyone!" 

"You're right. Bullets are traceable." The sheriff held out a hand. "Give me the dagger." 

"That's a no-go as well." Stiles shook his head. "No stabbing, poking, slicing allowed. No killing people. This is an anti-dead zone only." 

"Stiles;" John crouched down to be eye level with the teen and reached out almost causally to backhand him across the face. "Move off the nice man so I can kill him." 

Stiles resisted the urge to cup his hurt cheek and shook his head. "I'm not moving. You're not killing him. Let's just take the dagger and go." 

"Too big a risk. I'm not ready to give up being the sheriff quite yet." 

Stiles gulped, his stomach rolling at what he was about to say. "I won't let you kill him. I won't let you make my dad a murder. You either back off or…or I pull you out of my father the hard way."

The sheriff sat back on his heels, staring at the teen. "You're bluffing. You know I'll kill him on my way out." 

"My dad lives his whole life to protect others." Stiles spoke firmly, sweat breaking out on his brow. "If that's the way he has to die, he'd be proud." 

The demon watched him carefully and Stiles met his eyes with resolve. Finally, his dad shrugged. "Eh, we'll do it your way. If I have to body jump again, I will." 

Stiles sagged, exhaling in a rush as he leaned over Chris. Making sure that the sheriff was moving back, he carefully moved the hunter into the recovery position, figuring it was all he could right now. His father grabbed his arm and tugged him up impatiently. 

"Enough. Give me the dagger and let’s get out of here." 

Reaching into his belt, Stiles pulled out the dagger and handed it over. The demon checked it quickly before rubbing Stiles head good-naturedly. 

"Nice work, little spark. You're turning out to be pretty useful." Pushing him in the direction of the door, he gripped one of shoulders tightly, smiling at the pained whimper Stiles let loose. "Now, straight home tonight and do your homework. I'll be there in a bit and I'll even pick up dinner. You deserve a reward for good behavior." 

Stiles nodded slowly, casting one last look at Chris Argent lying before they shut the door behind them.

\--------------------------------------------------

Scott slid out of the elevator door as soon it started to open, zeroing in on where Allison stood crying on his mother’s shoulder. Melissa nudged the girl's head up, pointing to Scott and giving them both a soft smile when the teens collided in an embrace. 

"Are you okay, Allison?" Scott asked after her frantic sobbing has lessened. He gently pulled her face up to look into her eyes. "Is your dad okay?" 

"Your mom says he'll be fine." Allison sniffed. "He was already awake for a few minutes and everything...it's just, I thought he was dead. I walked in and saw him on the floor and there was blood and-" 

"Shhh, you're okay. He's gonna be fine." Scott pressed a kiss against her temple. "Do you know what happened?" 

"Not really. The paramedics thought he fell down the stairs because of where he was lying..." Allison's voice trailed off and Scott nodded. 

"But you think someone did it to him because your Dad is, well...your dad." 

"He's never been clumsy a day in his life." Allison said firmly. "The only way he fell down stairs is if someone pushed him." 

"Okay, I'll go over to the house later and see if I can find anything." Scott told her, taking the girls hand. "Do you want to sit with your dad for a while?" 

Allison kept a strong grip on Scott's hand as she headed back into her father's hospital room. Choking back a sob as she saw him again lying pale on the bed, she turned to Scott to see him sniffing the room, a frown on his face. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Did you call Stiles already?" Scott said, walking closer to the bed. "Was he here?" 

"No." Allison shook her head. "I only had time to call you. Why?" 

Scott leaned down to sniff at Chris Argent's neck, getting closer than he ever wanted to get to the man. Looking up, he met Allison's eyes across the bed. "I can smell Stiles. I can smell him on your dad." 

"W-what does that mean?" Allison reached down to take her dad's hand, squeezing it tightly. 

Scott stared down at the unconscious man, his jaw clenched. "I'm not sure but it's not good."


	11. Chapter 11

"You're sure it was Stilinski?" Jackson asked again and Scott growled lightly.

"I'm pretty sure that after all these years I know how my best friend smells!"

"Your dad is like a serious hunter DILF." Erica whistled. "How did Stiles take him out?"

"Forget about how," Lydia shook her head. "The real question is why. Was there anything missing?"

Allison shook her head. "The hospital let Dad come home early this morning and he looked around but didn't notice anything gone. The alarm system was disabled, power cut from the outside and one of the downstairs windows was open but he hasn't found anything missing yet."

"Who knew Stiles was such a criminal?" Jackson commented, receiving glares from everyone. "I'm just saying, are we sure he hasn't been possessed by someone who isn't a giant spaz?"

"Derek said he's 100% human." Boyd rumbled lowly. "He also just walked in so we should break this up."

Scott and Allison both turned to look for their friend while the rest of the pack scattered. Allison gripped her boyfriend’s hand tightly as she waited for the teen to reach them and he turned to look at her.

"If you don't want to do this, I can talk to him on my own." Scott whispered, his tone gentle. "I know it's got to be hard talking to him."

Allison leaned her head against Scott's shoulder briefly before squeezing his hand and letting it go. "Thank you. I know something is wrong with him...but...my dad."

"It's fine, I got this." Scott watched Allison leave quickly just as Stiles walked up to him. The boy was pale, sweaty and reeked of shame and fear. A sharp bruise stood out on his cheek, causing his eye to swell a bit. "Is that a different bruise than yesterday? It looks way worse." Scott blurted out his question, reaching out a hand for his friends face.

Stiles ducked out of reach. "It's nothing. Was that Allison leaving? Is she...uh...is everything okay with her?"

"She's stressed." Scott said, his tone serious as he watched Stiles carefully. "Her dad got knocked out and had to go to the hospital."

"That sucks." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Is he okay? Was there permanent damage?"

"They sent him home this morning." Scott started to speak, then shook his head sharply. "Screw Derek, I'm not going to tiptoe around this with you."

"Derek? W-what?" Stiles yelped as Scott moved forward, herding the smaller teen into the corner. "What the hell, Scott? Back off!"

"No, Stiles, you've got to talk to me. You're acting crazy, you're lying to us, you're avoiding the pack and now you hurt Allison's dad! What is going on with you?"

"You think I hurt Mr. Argent?" Stiles asked in shock. "You really believe I'd do that?

Scott lowered his voice, looking to make sure that no one was close enough to hear. "I could smell you all over him, Stiles."

Stiles jaw dropped, staring in shock at his friend. "I can't even believe you, man. It's nice to see where I fucking stand with you."

"But I smelled you." Scott said defensively.

"Well as long as you smelled me!" Stiles shouted in his face. "Years of friendship don't measure up against your stupid werewolf nose!"

With a shove, Stiles pushed past Scott and headed off down the hallway. Scott groaned and thumped his head against the locker repeatedly.

"That could have gone better." Isaac said from behind Scott, reaching to put his hand between the locker and the teen's head. "What happened to being subtle about trying to get information from Stiles?"

Scott sighed and turned around, leaning against the locker with a guilty expression. "I suck at subtle? Man, Derek is going to kill me."

"Yeah, you sort of blew the whole 'don't confront Stiles' thing." Isaac nodded. "I have chemistry with him next hour. I can try and talk to him?"

"Thanks, buddy!" Scott smiled. "Just, you know..."

"Don't accuse him of trying to kill someone?" Isaac arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, don’t do that." Scott patted Isaac on the back as the first bell rung. "Good luck!"

Isaac headed into the chemistry lab, seeking out his prey. Moving almost too fast to be human, he headed off another student at the pass so he could take the empty seat next to Stiles. The other teen was slumped on a stool, his head pillowed on the lab table with his eyes closed tightly. Isaac busied himself with getting a pen and notebook from his backpack while he waited for Stiles to notice him.

"Forget about it, wolf-boy." Stiles spoke up, his face still planted on the table. "I'm not going to talk to you, share my secrets with you, confide in you, or have any sort of conversation with you at all. Might as well pack your crap and find another lab partner."

"Doesn't this count as a conversation right now?" Isaac smirked, twirling his pencil.

"No, this is an alert, like the emergency broadcast system." Stiles hummed an obnoxious tone for a few seconds. "Please be advised, silence and extreme attitude ahead. Please seek shelter."

"I think I'll survive." Isaac nodded and waited a moment before starting awkwardly. "So...uh..."

"Nope." Stiles covered his face with his arm. "I'm not kidding, Isaac. This conversation is not going anywhere, I'm not telling you anything so let's just skip it."

"But-"

"You can tell Scott you tried. He won't be mad." Stiles added and Isaac looked at him sideways, surprised at the insight.

"Sometimes, Stiles, you scare me."

The ring of the bell and the rushing of students almost drowned him out, but Isaac could hear Stiles soft mutter.

"Me too."

\----------------------------------------

The two partners made it through most of the class in silence, working carefully through the experiment. It wasn't until the end when Isaac noticed that Stiles was struggling to lift the jug of distilled water to pour into a flask. He figured that the jug was too heavy for the human to lift over his head, so Isaac came closer to offer his help, placing a hand on Stiles shoulder to get his attention.

"NO!" Stiles yelped, jerking forward and dropping the jug of water onto the floor. The class was silent for a few seconds, Stiles harsh breathing the only sound and then the room erupted in noise as those closest moved away from the growing puddle of spilled water and the rest of the class craned to see the problem. Isaac was staring in shock at Stiles, his hand frozen in midair as he tried to figure out what was happening.

"Stilinski! Lahey!" Harris shouted at the two of them. "Of course you two delinquents would destroy my classroom. Clean this mess up!"

Stiles blinked at the teacher before a shudder ran through him and he grasped as his wet clothes, speaking disjointedly. "Uh...wet…I’m...change?" His breathing was slowing slightly but Isaac could still hear his heart pounding away and before Harris or Isaac could say anything, Stiles bolted out the door.

"Typical." Harris scoffed, turning to point at Isaac. "Grab a mop, Lahey! The rest of you, pay attention to what you're doing!"

Isaac made quick work of mopping the floor and left the class early to head to the locker room for a change of clothes. As soon as he entered, he heard the familiar fast beat of Stiles heart and sighed. He needed to get changed, but after the debacle in the classroom, he wanted to give Stiles his space. That sort of fear response was all too familiar to Isaac and he wanted time to come up with a reason why Stiles acted that way...a reason that wasn't the same reason Isaac still responded like that on occasion.

Moving quietly around the corner towards his locker, Isaac spared a glance at the other teen and stopped in his tracks. Stiles had removed his shirt and the boy's shoulders were littered with bruises. Red and blacks were layered on older yellowing bruises and Isaac winced in sympathy for how much a simple touch must hurt on such injuries. His biceps had thick handprints tattooed in darkening bruises and there were places along his ribs that held bright blooms of bruising like he had been poked or pinched. As Stiles turned to grab a shirt from his locker, Isaac could see bruises and reddish abrasions along his back and like a movie playing in his mind, he could imagine being thrown up against a wall and held there threating.

He must have a made a sound of some sort because Stiles whirled around, his shirt held up against his chest. "Jesus, Isaac, taking creeper lessons from Peter?"

Isaac took a step forward, his face almost blank. "Your back, I know -"

"It's nothing." Stiles interrupted hastily. "Just, you know, clumsy. Like my face."

"I had bruises like that on my back." Isaac gulped a deep breath. "My father...he liked to slam me against the wall. Over and over until I apologized or he got bored."

"It's...it's not like that." Stiles whispered, his whole body shaking. "I'm sorry about what happened to you, Isaac, but it's not like that."

"Stiles, look at yourself." Isaac pleaded with him. "It's exactly like that."

Stiles shook his head firmly, his eyes closed as if he was trying to convince himself. "I've got it handled, okay?"

"I know you think that, but it's not going to get better by itself."

Stiles head jerked up. "You're not going to tell Derek?"

"Stiles, I have to tell somebody." Isaac said firmly, thinking of all the people who had never told of his dad's abuse. "You know why I have to tell."

To his credit, Stiles nodded, sympathizing with the other teen. "Can...can you give me a day?"

"We're having a pack meeting tonight at Scott's house." Isaac offered. "I'll tell Derek then."

Stiles perked up at that and his eyes seemed to lose focus as he thought rapidly. Isaac coughed a little to get his attention. "You know, you could tell Derek yourself. He's not going to think any less of you."

"You do what you gotta do, Isaac." Stiles told him, pulling the shirt over his head carefully and covering up the bruises. "And I'll do what I have to do."

"What does that mean?" Isaac asked, but the teen kept walking out of the locker room. "Stiles? Stiles?"

Isaac thought of the bruises on his friend, the smell of fear that coated him lately and the fact that he was going to have to tell both Scott and Derek that it was the Sheriff abusing the boy. Growling lightly, he spent the next few minutes destroying several lockers with his fists and claws. Sometimes, life just sucked.

\-----------------------------------------------

Peter watched as Derek paced back and forth across the kitchen in the diner as he talked on the phone. His nephew was having a terse conversation with Chris Argent and Peter thought his aggressive behavior was hilarious. When the younger man hung up the phone, Peter couldn't hold in a chuckle.

"Was Argent intimidated by you flexing your claws and flashing your eyes?" Peter asked. "Oh wait, that's right...you were on the _phone_."

Derek ignored his comments. "Argent found something missing from the break-in. He's going to come to Scott's house tonight to fill us in."

"Is that what he was telling you when you were glaring at the toaster? Did he stutter in fear?" Peter felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out. "Oh wait, never mind, he couldn't see you _over the phone_."

"I need to leave someone at the diner, but I need everyone else at McCalls to figure out a plan." Derek commented, still ignoring his uncle's jibes.

Peter looked down to see a text from Stiles on his phone; ' **Need favor. Dont tell Derek. U in?'**  Eying his nephew for a moment, he shrugged and replied, his fingers flying across the keyboard. ' **For the right incentive ;)'**

"I was going to leave Boyd and Erica but I walked in on them making out." Derek sighed. "They had stuck a paper bag over the demon's head." 

"Mmmhmm" Peter hummed, concentrating on the text Stiles sent back. ' **Ugh. Never use emoticons again creeperwolf. Will owe u one.'** Peter grinned, replying quickly. ' **What do you need?'**

"Who are you texting?" Derek asked and Peter subtly tilted the phone so the screen wasn't visible. ' **Need access to diner w/o rest of pack. As much time as possible.'**

"I thought you told me not to give you details on my..." Peter grinned widely, pausing for effect, "...acquaintances."

The expression on Derek's face was somewhere between uncomfortable and need-brain-bleach-immediately and he moved away. "Forget I asked."

Peter typed a quick ' **done'** back to Stiles before looking up at Derek. "I'll take the shift at the diner by myself. That way you can have your whole pack for the meeting. I'm sure I'll find a way to stay entertained. 


	12. Chapter 12

Derek opened the trunk of the camaro and moved back so Erica and Boyd could grab the groceries they had stopped to buy. Melissa was standing on the porch and he walked over to say hello. 

"You know you don't have to buy groceries every time the pack eats over." Melissa said, smiling up at the alpha. "I've been feeding Scott and Stiles for years, I know how much teenagers can pack away." 

"Even Stiles at his worst doesn't hold a candle to werewolves." Derek stated. "I appreciate you letting us meet here tonight. I know that Argent wanted neutral ground." 

"Well, that's why I bought in this neighborhood." Melissa joked, holding open the door. "Come on, kids, get into the kitchen before Scott eats all the cookies." 

Derek looked back at the driveway where Jackson and Lydia pulled and he spoke loud enough to carry to all his betas. "Everyone is helping out in the kitchen, Mrs. McCall isn't our personal chef." 

"Derek?" Isaac was waiting just inside the door, his shoulders hunched down and his gaze on the floor. "I need to talk to you. Just you and Scott." 

"Okay." Derek stepped closer and his eyes widened when Isaac flinched away from him. The teen's defensive behavior had mostly faded since becoming a werewolf and Derek hadn't seen Isaac flinch from anyone in the pack in a long time. "Isaac?" 

"Sorry." Isaac shook his head. "That was stupid." 

"No, it's not stupid." Derek shook his head, trying to remember all the lectures Stiles had given him about dealing with traumatic youth. "It's just something that happens sometimes, right? Not your fault. Are you okay?" 

Isaac hugged his arms around himself, shaking his head. "Not really. Can you get Scott? I really just want to get this over with." 

Derek nodded and fetched Scott from the kitchen, tossing the cookie jar he was hoarding to Boyd and reminding the rest of the teens to help Melissa. The duo walked back to the den where Isaac was huddled on a couch. 

"Isaac? What's wrong, buddy?" Scott moved forward, flopping down next to the teen. 

"There was an accident in chemistry." Isaac began, taking a deep breath. "Water got spilled and Stiles left to go change and after I cleaned up, I went too. I wasn't going to bug him or anything but then I saw-" 

Derek tried hard to be patient but it was a struggle. Counting in his head he got to 8 before Scott broke the silence. 

"What? What did you see?" 

"Someone's been beating Stiles." Isaac said in a rush, his eyes flying up to meet Derek's. "I mean, I know none of us believed him about him getting the bruises on his face because he was clumsy but...this was...Derek, he had bruises everywhere." 

"No." Scott breathed out. "Who would want to beat Stiles?" 

"What sort of bruises?" Derek asked, grinding his teeth together. "Where?" 

"His shoulders, like someone had been gripping him or pushing him. His upper arms, there were handprints." Isaac shuddered a little, his gaze unfocused. "There were marks on his ribs and side. Big bruises and marks on his back. I...that's when I knew who did it." 

"You recognize who did it?" 

"Not the person, just the marks. That's how my back used to look after my dad...just after." 

"You think his dad is doing this?" Scott scoffed. "There's no way! The sheriff wouldn't do that!" 

"I know what it looks like when your dad is beating you. I know how you act when people move too fast and how you hold yourself when you're trying to hide injuries." Isaac retorted. "Besides all that, I asked him, Scott. It's his dad." 

"No, it's not." Derek shook his head, drawing their attention. "It's the demon. The third demon is inside the sheriff." 

\--------------------------------------------------

Allison opened the door at the McCalls, knocking lightly on the doorframe as she and her father entered. "Hello?" 

"In the kitchen!" Mrs. McCall shouted from down the hall. The two entered the bustling kitchen where humans and werewolves were spread out helping to fix dinner. Erica and Boyd were spreading butter and garlic over loaves of french bread, Jackson was stirring a pot of sauce while Lydia chatted to him from her spot on the counter, and Melissa waved to them from where she was chopping vegetables. 

"Anything we can do to help?" Chris asked, looking around the kitchen. 

"Come and take over for me, sweetie." Melissa told Allison, passing over the knife. "There’s enough kids here now that we can take a coffee break." 

Melissa held out a cup to Chris and then directed him down the hallway towards the den, lowering her voice. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness, nausea?" 

Chris looked over his shoulder to make sure that his daughter was occupied before answering. "A little lightheaded when I stand, but nothing major. I got off lucky." 

"You did." Derek agreed, meeting them as they entered the den. Isaac and Scott were sitting nearby on a sofa, both looking upset. "I think you were taken out by the third demon. You're lucky he didn't kill you outright." 

"I thought Scott said that he smelled Stiles?" Melissa questioned. "You said he wasn't possessed." 

"Stiles isn't possessed, but his dad might be," Derek nodded. "Unless Sheriff Stilinski has always been a child abuser, I think he's possessed by our missing demon." 

"What?" Melissa cried out, looking over at Scott. "John would never hurt Stiles!" 

"I know mom, but he has been." Scott clenched his fists. "Isaac saw him today in the locker room. He's covered in bruises." 

"It's the demon." Derek growled. "At some point it possessed the Sheriff and that's who has been hurting Stiles." 

"Why would he say anything?" Melissa asked, taking a seat next to her son. "Why wouldn't he come to one of you for help?" 

"Besides the fact that he's obviously being beaten into submission?" Derek said, frustrated. "Probably because he knows Deaton said the only way to get rid of a demon usually kills the host. There's no way he'd risk his dad like that." 

"You're wrong." Scott said firmly, his gaze on Derek. "I mean, you're right about why he didn't come to us. Stiles would do anything to keep his dad safe, so it makes sense why he would hide this from us." 

"What am I wrong about?" 

"Stiles can't be beaten into submission. It's not possible." Scott smirked slightly. "I don't know what or how, but Stiles is out there and he has a plan to fix this." 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles slipped into the diner quietly, the duffle bag he was carrying thumping against his legs. He had spent the afternoon gathering supplies and talking himself into what was possibly his worst plan since 'lets go look for a dead body in the woods, Scott'. The interior of the diner was dark and quiet and Stiles took several deep breaths. He was here and he had a limited time frame, so he gripped the bag tighter and stepped forward.

"Hello Stiles." Peter said, coming through the diner's kitchen door. 

"Damn it!" Stiles yelped as the wolf caused him to jump. "Of course you were lurking in the shadows. That is typical you." 

"I'm just doing my part to honor the atmosphere of your request. A clandestine meeting in an abandoned locale. You, me, your dubious bag of interesting smelling items, our bound and gagged guest." Peter smiled at Stiles. "It's right out of the movies." 

"Ugh, you are the worst." Stiles groaned. "I can't believe I owe you now. It's like making deals with the devil." 

"At least it's the devil you know." Peter teased and Stiles looked at him sharply. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Nothing, nothing. Just making some educated guesses." Peter clapped his hands. "Now, as much as I would be flattered, you didn't arrange this meeting to talk with me." 

"No." Stiles squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath and hitching his bag higher. His first step was wobbly and Peter darted towards him before Stiles straightened. "Back off, I'm fine. 

"Sure you are." Peter looked the teen over "Although I'm guessing you're not up to your usual standards of fine. You reek, Stiles. You're covered in fear and pain and panic." 

"I'm so tired of werewolf noses." Stiles sighed, moving away from the werewolf and towards the demon tied to a table. 

"I think you're just plain tired." Peter commented, taking a seat across the demon's body from Stiles. "When did you last sleep?" 

"Showing concern, Peter? That's not like you." Stiles muttered, wincing as he hefted the duffle bag onto the table and unzipping it slowly. "Usually you report on peoples weaknesses with a creepy amount of glee." 

Peter leaned forward to peer into the bag. "You provide such entertainment, Stiles. If you pass out I won't be able to watch you do...what exactly are you doing anyway?" 

Stiles emptied the duffle bag, item by item onto the table. Iron rod, containers of salt, holy water, crucifix, blood taken from an innocent, bone of a holy man, bundles of herbs and sticks, a black knife and candles all lined up, well within eyesight of the demon. "I'm experimenting." 

The demon made a muffled noise behind his gag and Peter casually reached down to give him a vicious pinch. "Shhh, let's allow Stiles to tell us what that means before we get too excited. Go ahead, Stiles, we're all ears." 

"The internet can't decide how demons work, how possession works. It's all guess work and television shows mixed in with ancient rites." Stiles ran his fingers along a jar, his tone cold. "I don't know what's useless, what will hurt you or what will just kill you. So we're just going to try everything out one by one." 

Opening up the jar in front of him, Stiles held it over the demon's head. "Once last chance to leave on your own, man." 

The demon glared up at the teen, silent underneath the gag. Stiles shrugged and upturned the jar of holy water over the demons head. Immediately the demon began to thrash, screaming in pain. As the water ran over his face, a bright red rash sprung up like it was burning his skin. Peter and Stiles both jerked back away from the flailing demon and met each other’s eyes in shock. 

"Oh my god, oh my freaking god." Stiles whispered, looking down at the empty jar in his hand. 

"Stiles." Peter barked sharply. "Calm down." 

Stiles looked back at the demon who was huffing deep breaths through his nose, but otherwise seemed to have settled. The burn on his face and neck looked like a harsh sunburn, but nothing more violent. Peter peeled the tape off his mouth and the demon spat at the werewolf before gulping in more air. 

"That wasn't fun, was it?" Peter taunted. "Are you ready to go or do you want to try out more of Stiles little tricks?" He leaned down close, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Personally I'm looking forward to more experimenting." 

"You and your little human are nothing to me!" The demon yelled and Stiles stepped closer, picking up a bottle of consecrated oil with shaking hands. 

"Fine. Let's begin." 

\------------------------------------------------------

The dining room table was quiet as everyone finished their meal in silence. What little knowledge they had of the situation weighed on their minds and their thoughts raced trying to come up with a solution. Melissa quietly directed Isaac and Scott to start clearing the table and Chris dug in his pocket. 

"I finally figured out what was missing, I didn't notice it before because I've only had it for a month." Chris opened a piece of paper covered in sketches of a dagger, short with a dark blade a circle at the end of the hilt. "A hunter found it when he cleared out a nest of demons back east." 

Derek took the sketch and looked at it, passing it around to his betas. "What does it do? Why would the demons here want it?" 

"I think it's a demon killer." Argent told him. "When you kill a host with this blade, the demon dies too, trapped inside. They're rare and powerful. I'm almost sure the demons came to Beacon Hills to get the blade back. They would not want this in hunter hands." 

"Now that he has the blade, won't he just leave?" Scott asked. "Shouldn't he have left last night when he and Stiles stole it?" 

"I said I'm almost sure." Chris shrugged. "It's possible they're here for another reason and the dagger is just a bonus." 

"So what is the plan here?" Jackson asked. "Because as much as Stilinski bugs the crap out of me, we can't just sit around while this demon wails on him." 

"We're still stuck at the same place with the demons." Lydia spoke up. "We can't separate the demon and host without possibly killing the host. Even this demon killer blade still is a death sentence for the host. We can't do that to Stiles dad."

"No, but we are going to make sure he can't hurt Stiles anymore." Derek said, standing. "We are going to trap him tonight and hold him however long it takes to separate the demon safely. Scott, you and Isaac go get Deaton. We'll need him to make the churchyard dirt circle." 

The two wolves jumped up, heading for the door. Lydia stood as well, pulling Jackson up with her. "I'll go whip up something explosive." 

"Mildly explosive, Lydia." Derek cautioned. "The Sheriff is probably going to be with Stiles." 

"Little booms only." Lydia called over her shoulder, waving a hand dismissively. 

"Erica, you and Boyd go back to the depot and pick up the chains we use for full moons." Derek nodded at the pair. "Allison -" 

"My daughter and I will go gear up." Chris Argent interjected. "If the demons are here for the blade, it's my fault. Besides, Stiles and the Sheriff need all the help they can get." 

Derek stood there as everyone left and he lowered his head, his hand gripping the table tightly. 

"You can do this." Melissa spoke up from where she was sitting. Derek glanced up at her, having almost forgotten she was there. "I know you're worried because it's Stiles and he's important to you." 

"I don't know that everything is going to work out." Derek confessed, staring down at the table. "I don't know if I can make this right." 

"Nobody ever does." Melissa shrugged. "You just put on your big boy pants and do what needs to be done. Now, go take care of business." 

Derek blinked for a moment and then grinned, heading for the door. Melissa looked around at the empty house and sighed. "Screw this holding down the homefront nonsense. They're going to need a nurse." 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter sighed as he listened to the sounds of Stiles retching in the corner of the diner. He grabbed a bottle of water from the supplies they had brought for guard duty and walked over to the teen. Most of the items had produced little to no effect on the demon and Stiles had weathered the holy water burns and seizure-like spasms from the herb bundles admirably. But when he ran the iron rod salvaged from a graveyard fence over the demons limbs and the man’s skin bubbled and burned, the teen had lost his resolve, dropping the rod and bolting to empty his stomach. 

"You lasted longer than I thought you would." Peter commented as he dangled the bottle of water in front of the teen. "I was sure you'd give up after the mirror trick that showed his true face." 

"I guess I'm tougher than I look." Stiles said hoarsely, grabbing the water to rinse out his mouth. 

"Yeah, that would play better if we weren't standing over a puddle of your own vomit." Peter snarked, taking a few steps backwards. "What's the plan now?" 

Stiles spit another mouthful of water onto the ground and stood, leaning his hand against the wall for balance. "Are you asking if I'm going to keep going?" 

"No, I know you're done. I'm asking what you're going to do with what you learned." Peter crossed his arms. "Quite obviously you know where the 3rd demon is and they won't leave their host willingly. You've just figured out how to hurt them, maybe enough to make them want to leave; so what's your plan?" 

"I-I-I can't do that." Stiles rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, his skin pale. "Not to him. But maybe I can threaten it? Bring them here and s-s-show what I d-d-did." 

"Better work on that poker face." Peter noted. "Since you planned this little excursion when Derek was having his secret meeting that you somehow know about, I'm assuming you're not going to include him on this?" 

"Nobody is included." Stiles said firmly. "Not even you." 

"Believe me, I wasn't volunteering." Peter held up his hands. "Just wanted to know how you're going to keep my dear nephew out of your way." 

"I'll be back shortly, but text me if Derek shows up." Stiles grabbed the duffle bag and started shoving items back in, his gaze hard. "I may be out of my depth when it comes to demons, but werewolves I can handle." 

Peter watched as Stiles left the diner and then looked down at the demon, whose iron-induced burns were still smoking slightly. 

"You should be proud." The demon rasped out. "Your little human is vicious. But you should watch out, he'll probably turn on you and your pack." 

"I'm not worried about him turning on us, the boy has more loyalty than what's good for him." Peter commented, idly pressing his hand against one of the burns and smirking as the demon trashed against his bonds. "He is a vicious little thing, too bad I can't really take credit for it. Stiles came by that all on his own." 

\----------------------------------------------------

"Sheriff, this is dispatch, please respond." The radio squawked loudly and the Sheriff rolled his eyes as he picked up the handset. "Dispatch, this is the Sheriff. Did you forget I was on a break to eat?" 

"Copy that, Sheriff. Just got a call from your son asking you to meet him out by the old Moonrise Diner for car trouble. Sounds like his jeep is broken again." 

The sheriff could hear the laughter in the voice and lightened his tone to match. "Nothing new then. Go ahead and let him know I'll respond, dispatch. Sheriff out." 

With a sigh, the Sheriff tossed his food on the seat next to him and headed towards the abandoned diner.


	13. Chapter 13

The jeep was parked in front of the diner and the Sheriff pulled his cruiser up next to it, watching as Stiles rooted around in the back, tossing out random items. Rolling his eyes as he got out of the car, he moved towards the teen.

"If you actually called me out here for car trouble, I'm not going to be happy." 

Stiles jerked away from the jeep, an empty energy drink can in one hand and a frisbee in the other. "Holy sh...no, no, I called you here because this is where the pack has the other demon and they're busy tonight." 

"Is that so?" John looked at the diner and then turned back to Stiles, reaching out to pat him patronizingly on the head. "Good job, little spark. I like to see you taking initiative." 

Working hard to stay still, Stiles gave a small nod. "Only one of them is inside so I'm just grabbing some wolf deterrents." Tossing the frisbee and can back into the jeep, he grabbed a few more items and stuffed them into the bag at his feet. "Alright, I'm ready." 

The father and son stopped just inside the diner where Peter blocked their path. He smirked, holding out his hand. "Sheriff Stilinski, pleasure to finally meet you. Or rather, whoever is using you like a little flesh puppet." 

"Peter." Stiles cautioned, eyeing the sheriff. "Maybe not antagonize the powerful demon?" 

"It's okay, son." John said, wrapping an arm around Stiles' shoulder and pulling the teen to his side roughly. "It's about time I met some of your pack friends. Peter, you're the Alpha's uncle, correct?" 

"Yes, I'm Peter Hale and Derek is my nephew." Peter looked pointedly at the place where the Sheriff's hand was digging into Stiles shoulder. "Now that you got whatever you needed from the Argents and you've found your little friend, you don't need Stiles anymore." 

"Isn't that sweet, little spark?" The sheriff bent his head to stage whisper in Stiles ear. "The wolf cares about you, doesn't want to see you get hurt. You should inform him that I don't share well with others." 

“Neither do I.” Peter growled lowly, his eyes flashing as he extended his claws. “Now, let the boy go and this won't get violent." 

Stiles cried out as the Sheriff pushed him to the ground by the grip on his shoulder and he grinned at the wolf, his eyes flashing black. "You know that you're no match for me, wolf. Is this boy important enough for you to risk your life?" 

"He's pack." Peter growled and lifted a clawed hand to show the cell phone he held in his hand. "And I might not be able to beat you one-on-one, but the alpha and the rest of the pack are on the way and I don't think you can take us all." 

"Dammit!" John shoved Stiles away from him and stalked towards Peter. "I knew that little brat was going to try and trap me." 

"No! Peter, don't!" Stiles yelped from the floor as he watched the two men circle each other. "Don't hurt him!" 

"Don't hurt _him?_ " Peter asked, watching the sheriff cautiously. "How about telling the demon not to hurt me?" 

The demon darted forward and Peter twisted out of the way, shoving the demon into a nearby table. The sheriff toppled over the table and crashed against the chairs as Peter moved to stand between the demon and the teenager. "Stiles, get out of here! Derek is on his way." 

"I can't." Stiles said quietly and Peter turned to see the teen on his feet, a handful of purple dust in his out stretched hand. "I'm sorry, Peter." 

"Karma is a bitch." Peter muttered as the powdered wolfsbane hit him in the face and with a groan, he collapsed unconscious in a heap. Stiles knelt to turn the older man on his side, brushing the dust off his face and clothing carefully.

"Good move, kid." The sheriff grunted, climbing out of the demolished chairs. "Is he dying?" 

"No!" Stiles hovered over Peter worriedly, making sure the wolf was still breathing. "The powder will only knock him out for a little while. He'll be fine." 

"Slightly disappointing, but I'll take what I can get." John smirked at the downed werewolf before walking towards the bound and gagged demon. "Now, look at this pathetic display. Did you really let a bunch of teenagers get the best of you?" 

The demon growled from beneath the gag and the sheriff bent down, putting his ear close. "What? What was that? I can't quite make it out...are you telling me that you're sorry for failing so badly? Is that what it sounds like to you, son?" 

Stiles rolled his eyes, moving to the other side of the table. "That's hilarious, really, but did you hear Peter? The pack is going to be here soon, you need to get him and get out of here." 

"It was nice of you to arrange this little meeting, Stiles." John said, drawing the dagger out of his jacket. "But the thing is, I've got the dagger now so I don't really need the help of this poor fool." 

"Then why?" Stiles followed the dagger with his eyes. "Why did you come?" 

"Incompetence on his level can't go unpunished.” John scoffed, patting the demon on the head. "I'm not going to bring him with me, but he knows too much about me to leave among the wolves." 

The Sheriff lifted the dagger and slammed it down into the heart of the demon on the table. Stiles cried out, jerking away from the table as the sheriff's eyes flashed black as he twisted the blade before drawing it out of the body. 

"Oh my god!" Stiles cried out, staring at his father. "You were supposed to get him out of here!" 

"No, I was supposed to take care of him." John said, eyeing the dead body. "Which I did, although...do you think I need to cut off his head? I mean, it's probably overkill, but I do like to be sure." 

Stiles shook his head, tripping as he stumbled away from the table and out of sight of the demon. The sight of his father plunging a knife into another man's chest was bad enough, there's no way he wanted to see him cutting off someone's head. Looking around the diner, his mind raced as he tried to come up with some way to stop what was happening. Peter was still unconscious, Derek wasn't here and even without the added demon strength, Stiles didn't think he could overpower his dad in a fight. 

Stumbling over a broken chair leg, Stiles bent to grab the piece of wood. Desperate times called for desperate measures and Stiles snuck up behind his father and slammed the wood hard against the back of his head. 

"I'm sorry, dad." Stiles whispered, watching the older man fall like a stone. Stiles spared a grateful glance at the fact that the demon hadn't gotten the chance to behead the body on the table before he bent down to grab his father’s legs, starting to pull him towards the door.

"When this is over you're going straight back to the diet, pops." Stiles grunted as he made slow progress across the diner. "You feel like you're made entirely of cheeseburgers and donuts." 

\-------------------------------------------------------

"Hold on, something's wrong." Derek held up a hand as he got out of his car. "Dammit, I can only hear Peter's heartbeat." 

Derek led the way into the building and growled when he smelled the sweet scent of powdered wolfsbane. Ignoring his uncle for the moment, he stomped over to the table and stared at the dead body in dismay. He was sure that Stiles hadn't stabbed the man in the heart himself, but he wasn't sure how involved the boy had been in the death. He wanted Stiles to come out of this situation with as little blood on his hands as possible. Going over to his uncle, he knelt next to the unconscious man. 

"Peter. Peter!" Derek shouted and then reached to slap the man across the face. "Peter!" 

"You know," Peter mumbled, his eyes still closed tightly, "Tradition holds that a kiss wakes the sleeping beauty." 

A chorus of coughed "creepy" sounded from the door and Derek just frowned at his uncle. "I'm going to ignore you asking me for a kiss because I don't have enough money for that sort of therapy. What happened here?" 

"Stiles happened, of course." Peter took Derek's outstretched hand and stood. "The boy is clever, even under stress. He took me out so that his father could...oh, well that is a surprise. I thought he'd free the demon, not kill him." 

"Derek, everyone's here." Boyd said from the doorway and he turned to see Chris Argent and Deaton speaking outside. "What do we do now?" 

"We find Stiles." Derek took a deep sniff, closing his eyes to sort out the smells around him. "I smell the jeep, and it's not far. We just need to find him and trap his father." 

"Although Stiles might be a few steps ahead of you on that plan." Peter spoke, crouching by the body of the demon. Standing up, he flashed the bloody dagger. "It's unlikely the demon would leave this behind if he left of his own free will. Looks like Stiles has the upper hand." 

Derek roared in approval. "Let's help him keep it." 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Stiles finished the half circle of mountain ash when he heard the nearby wolf howl. He could tell it was Derek and he was equally relieved and horrified to hear the familiar sound. Turning to see his father still lying unconscious on the floor, he rested a hand on his neck to feel the comforting thump of his pulse. 

"Anytime you want to wake up and let me know that I didn't cause you significant brain damage would be fine with me." Stiles said quietly, wincing when even that sound echoed slightly in the empty warehouse. "I hit you pretty hard, but you're all powered up with that stupid demon, so you should be fine. Please, please, please be fine." 

Wiping his hands on his knees, he stood and gathered his bag closer to him. "I don't know what my end game is anymore, Dad. I didn't have enough time to move you farther away from the diner so the pack will be here in minutes. There's no way that they'll me take you and get out of here. I can't...I can keep them away, talk to them. But I don't want to hurt them; I don't want to hurt Scott and Derek. I don't want anyone to get hurt but I don't know what to do right now. Dad, I wish you could just wake up and tell me what to do here." 

Hearing the sound of car doors slamming, Stiles took a deep breath and grabbed canisters from his bag. Waiting till he heard movement at the door, Stiles drew back his arm and waited till the door started opening. 

"Derek! You need to leave!" Stiles shouted loudly, trying hard to keep the wobble out of his voice. "This is your only warning!" 

"You know that's not going to happen!" Derek said, his face appearing in the doorway, he took in the position of Stiles in the warehouse and the canister the teen held in his hand. "Now put it down and let's talk." 

"I'm sorry, Derek." Stiles whispered and he flung the canister at the door. With a deafening bang, the canister erupted with smoke and blinding light and the wolves scattered. Derek roared in anger but he had to move back, blinking rapidly as he tried to dispel the lingering afterimages in his eyes. 

The bright light of the flash-bang grenade had faded but smoke still swirled around the doorway to the warehouse as the wolves waited, silently watching to see if another projectile would come hurtling towards them. Derek huffed and took a step closer to the door, wolfed out enough that he could use all of his senses to watch for danger.

“That was dangerous. You could have hurt one of us.” Derek yelled into the dark warehouse.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone but I will if I have to.” A voice shouted from inside. “So just leave!”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Scott called out, heading for the open door at a run and Derek rolled his eyes, motioning for the other betas to follow. The warehouse was musty but solid, obviously maintained over the years and there were clean patches, as if someone had come in recently to work. The pack stopped just outside the pool of light in the center of the warehouse and Derek moved to the front, looking down at a line of black dirt in front of his feet.

“Mountain ash?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to stick to the classics.” Stiles said, the smirk on his face not matching the desperate tone in his voice. “I figured that despite the fact that it would be wiser to stay outside, you’d all come traipsing right in like it was nothing. God, you need me around to make all your plans.”

“Break the line, Stiles.” Scott pleaded, pacing back and forth. “We can help you!”

“You don’t want to help me!” Stiles screamed at his best friend. “Look at what you brought here, Scott. Wolves and hunters and whatever we call Deaton. You didn't come here to help, you came here to battle!”

“Be reasonable, Mr. Stilinski.” Deaton said from the doorway where the smoke had cleared enough for Allison, her father and the vet to enter the warehouse. “You know that things can’t continue the way they have. You need to let us deal with the situation.”

“I don’t need to let anyone deal with anything.” Stiles shook his head, taking a careful step back away from the group of people. “Just leave. It’s not just mountain ash. I've got the guns from my dad’s cruiser. Leave and no one needs to get hurt.”

“Stiles, I promise you we will do everything we can to make sure -” Derek stopped as he heard a shuffle from behind Stiles. In a second, everyone else in the warehouse heard the movement as well. Stiles whirled around, looking in shock at the person on the floor.

“Stiles? What…what is going on?” The deep voice was weak, laced with confusion and Stiles whimpered slightly, falling to his knees and reaching out a hand to hover over the man’s shoulder.

“D-d-dad? Is it really you?”

Sheriff Stilinski blinked slowly up at his son, before giving a short nod. “I don’t know what’s- where are we, Stiles?”

“Oh my god.” Stiles dropped his chin to his chest, breathing heavily. “Oh god, it’s so good to hear you all confused, Dad, you have no idea.”

“Derek, I don’t think this is what Stiles hopes it is.” Deaton murmured quietly, starting to look through the bag of herbs he brought with him.

“Be careful, Stiles.” Derek urged, pressing as close as he could to the line of mountain ash. “Break the line now!”

“Is that Derek Hale?” the sheriff asked, peering across the room. “Help me stand up, kiddo.”

Stiles moved to grab his dad’s arm and no one in the room missed the couple of false starts where the teen flinched too much to be helpful. Eventually the pair stood, Stiles helping to steady his dad before letting go.

“You good, Dad?”

“I’m not sure.” His dad shook his head lightly. “Want to start explaining?”

“Mr. Stilinski?” Scott called from the edge of the circle, getting the attention of everyone. “There’s been some crazy stuff going on and I know you don’t really know about all of it or why Stiles knocked you out and bro-“

The sheriff turned slowly to look at his son. “You knocked me out?”

Stiles blinked in shock at the cold tone. “Uh…”

“Please, sir, we need Stiles to break the line.” Scott called. “I know you don’t understand, but it’s important!”

“I thought maybe it was the wolves or the hunter and his little protégé that did it and you were protecting me here.” John said, stalking closer to his son. “But I see I was wrong.”

“Please, no. No no no.” Stiles shook his head, trembling as his father drew closer.

“If I’m not mistaken, we already had a conversation about loyalty once this week.” The Sheriff stated. “Do we need to revisit the punishment again? Maybe it will stick better the second time around.”

“Hey!” Derek yelled, his claws extended as he pressed against the barrier. His betas growled behind him, all shifting in frustration.

“I know you’re in there, Sheriff!” Scott yelled desperately. “If you care about Stiles, you've got to fight back and let him go!”

“Scott, you lovable idiot.” The Sheriff laughed at the teen, snatching at Stiles’ shirt and dragging him close. “You are so naive. What makes you think there’s anything left in here besides me?”

“Despite his misbehavior, he's been useful.” Gripping Stiles hard enough to make the teen whimper, he turned to face the warehouse, flashing pure black eyes at those watching in horror. "I think I'll keep him for my own."

Scott roared and threw himself at the barrier, raging at the father of his friend. Derek looked to Chris Argent and pointed to the catwalk surrounding the warehouse and with a nod, the man and his daughter slunk off into the darkness. Moving closer to where his other betas stood, he motioned for Boyd and Jackson to come nearer. 

"He didn't have time for a full circle." Derek pointed out the mountain ash. "That back wall is unprotected; you might be able to break past it from the outside." 

Turning to Deaton next, he motioned at the bag the vet held. "Do you have anything in there that will help?" 

"I have things I can try, but there's no guarantee." Deaton said apologetically. "The best bet is still to get him to leave on his own." 

"Which is where I come in." Peter grinned, swinging the iron rod that Stiles had used on the demon in the diner. "I've recently learned some interesting facts about demons and can't wait to use my practical knowledge." 

A sharp whistle got Derek's attention and he gave the signal to the other wolves. They stepped closer to the line as Allison lobbed a water balloon straight at where the Sheriff and Stiles were standing. The balloon showered water over the two and immediately, the Sheriff reeled back, letting Stiles go as he cried out and wiped at his face. 

"No! Dad!" Stiles ran forward, taking off his plaid button-up to help wipe off the water. The demon snatched the shirt and dried his face, glaring up at the hunters hiding place. 

"Nice trick, but holy water doesn't exorcise me, it just makes me wet." The demon frowned, dropping Stiles shirt on the ground. "Pissed off and wet. Didn't you mention that you had brought my guns, Stiles?" 

Stiles shook his head, backing away slowly with his hands raised up. "N-n-no. You just want to leave, nobody needs to get hurt." 

"I'm tired of these games, little spark." The sheriff spat, advancing on the boy. Another whistle caught his attention and he looked to see Peter prowling the edge of the mountain ash barrier. 

"Do you know what this is?" Peter ran a hand down the iron rod slowly. "Iron from a cemetery fence. Oh, look at your face! You know exactly what this will do to you. How it will make your skin sizzle and pop. I don't care for the smell of burning flesh, but I think I'll enjoy it when it comes to you." 

"You're all bark and no bite, wolf." The demon spat, turning to face Peter. "Easy to make threats when you're on the wrong side of a mountain ash line." 

Loud bangs and scratching noises drew everyone’s attention to the back wall where Boyd and Jackson were working hard to make a hole. Peter smirked at the demon. "That line won't last all that long and you'll get to see how my bite matches up to my bark." 

"Stiles!" Derek got as close as he could to the teen and held his hand against the barrier. "Come on, break the line and let me help you. Let us keep you safe." 

"My dad, Derek." Stiles eyed where his father was trading threats with Peter. "I can't just abandon him to that demon. If I can help him get whatever he needs in Beacon Hills, he'll leave and I'll get my dad back." 

"To what end, Stiles?" Derek eyed the teen seriously. "You'll help him steal? Kill? He already hurt Argent. He killed the demon in the diner too, didn't he?" 

"Yeah. He was-" Stiles gulped, closing his eyes. "He was going to cut off his head." 

"It can't keep going on like this. We have to stop him." Derek lowered his voice. "Stiles, trust me. Let me help you. You don't have to do this alone." 

"Sweet." The sheriff smirked, coming up to stand behind Stiles. The teen jumped in fright as the man wrapped his arm around the boy's neck. "Nice try, but the lovesick alpha routine won't get you far. My boy is loyal to me, aren't you, Stiles?" 

Stiles looked at Derek, his eyes searching for a long moment. "No. No I'm not loyal to you." 

The arm tightened around his neck as his dad leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Now's not the time to grow a pair, kid." 

"I'm done helping you." Stiles raised his hands, intent on breaking the mountain ash barrier. With a rage-filled yell, the Sheriff moved to grab the teens arms, kneeing him hard in the back to drive the boy to the floor. Stiles screamed as the force caused his shoulders to dislocate and he collapsed on the floor, unable to move enough to protect his face from scraping the pavement. 

"Stiles!" Derek yelled for the teen, his teeth snapping. "Argent!" 

At his yell, Chris and Allison threw more water balloons, forcing the demon to move back away from the holy water attack. When he was got close to the back wall, a clawed hand surged through a hole in the wall and grabbed hold of his jacket. Boyd's hand held the jacket tightly, but he and Jackson hadn't created a large enough hole yet to do more than pull the man closer. 

"Scott, Isaac!" Derek called, his gaze still steady on Stiles body in front of him. "Bring Deaton up here! Break the line!" 

It was mere moments before Derek felt the resistance that was pushing against him fade and he bolted across the line. "Stiles? Come on, Stiles. Wake up, baby, come on!" 

Stiles groaned, twisting his head lightly. "Remind me when I'm not in agony to discuss pet names. If you get to call me baby, I call dibs on naming you Snookums." 

"Not a chance." Derek smiled tightly, resting a hand on Stiles cheek lightly. "If I move you, it's going to hurt." 

"If you don't think it hurts now, you're mistaken." Stiles clenched his teeth. "Just-just go slow. And don't get mad if I puke on you." 

Derek moved Stiles slowly, supporting his shoulders as best he could. Getting the teen to a sitting position strained Stiles and he leaned back against Derek's chest, panting heavily. Derek placed a gentle hand in between his shoulder blades, drawing some of the pain out of the boy. 

"Can you sit up by yourself?" Derek asked quietly and when Stiles nodded, he placed a kiss on his neck and stood. "Just hold on, okay." 

"Derek." Stiles gasped out, trying to maintain his balance even in a sitting position. "What are you going to do?" 

"They're going to hurt me, Stiles!" The sheriff cried out loudly from where he was being restrained. Boyd's arm was still gripping one side of his jacket and Jackson had created a hole in the back wall large enough to reach through and hold another arm. Isaac and Erica were pressed up on either side of the Sheriff as well, helping to press the demon against the wall. "Son, you gotta help me!" 

"Shut up." Derek growled, stepping closer. "You're outnumbered and you know it. Just leave the Sheriff and get out of my town." 

"Or what?" The sheriff gave Derek a smirk. "You're not going to kill me, alpha. You can't kill me without killing the father of your little love and you won't do that." 

Derek drew the dagger from his belt, blood from the last demon kill still staining. "I don't want to kill Stiles dad, but I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if he ends up hating me for it." 

"No, Derek." Stiles whispered from where he was watching on the floor. "Don't. That knife...it'll kill them both!" 

"I'm sorry, Stiles." Derek said, moving closer to the demon. "But your dad wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want to hurt other people, he wouldn't want to hurt you." 

"No!" Stiles moved slightly, crying out in pain and Scott slid in behind him, pulling him up carefully. Stiles fought against the hold weakly, tears streaming down his face. "Derek! My dad is still in there! There's still a chance I can get him back! Don't take that away from me!" 

Derek closed his eyes, steeling himself as he drew back the knife. "This is your last chance. Leave the sheriff or die." 

"No!" Stiles' wail drowned out the soft whispering of Scott trying to talk to the boy. "Dad! Please!" 

"Derek." Deaton's voice was soft and Derek didn't lower the knife at all but he glanced to the side to see the vet step close. "There is another way." 

"We can't let him go." Derek warned. 

"No, that wouldn't work and the options for forcing him out have unfortunate consequences." Deaton admitted. "But we could leave him inside." 

Derek blinked as everyone turned to look at the vet. Peter spoke up from where he was standing nearby. "Wow, they say that I love the drama. I don't think you could more cryptic. Care to explain?" 

"I found this in my storage." Deaton held up an old looking amulet on a chain, odd symbols etched onto its surface. "It's a binding amulet." 

"That's a myth." The sheriff spat out, his escape attempts increasing. "Those don't exist." 

"For something that doesn't exist, it sure has you scared." Derek observed. "What does it do?" 

"Just what it says;” Deaton explained. “It binds things, and in this case, it will bind the demon inside the sheriff's body." 

"That sounds like the opposite of a good idea." Peter interrupted and held up his hands when the vet gave him a glare. 

"It won't remove the demon, but it will keep him bound. He won't be able to take over the sheriff's body. He won't be able to hurt anybody." Deaton stepped closer, swinging the amulet slowly. "For the rest of time, the demon will be stuck inside the sheriff's body. Powerless, voiceless and unable to ever leave." 

"You're bluffing!" The demon yelled. "You won't take the chance that I could overpower the sheriff again." 

"It's a better option than letting you go." Derek shrugged. "It's better than killing you." 

"Do it." Stiles whispered and everyone turned to look at the boy. Scott had helped him to stand and was supporting him as he moved close to his father. "It's our only option. Put it on him." 

Deaton nodded at the boy and held the amulet to Derek. "You heard Stiles." 

"Yeah, I don't think so." The sheriff shook his head. "It was fun playing, but I don't intend to stay inside this human forever. I enjoyed our time together, little spark. Maybe I'll stop by again sometime and make sure you remember what I taught you." 

"Go fu-" Stiles was interrupted as the sheriff threw back his head and a noxious black smoke poured from his mouth. As the smoke dissipated into the air, the sheriff sagged and the wolves holding him carefully lowered him to the floor. 

"Dad?" Stiles jerked forward and Derek and Scott both supported him as he tried to get closer. Kneeling next to his father's unconscious form, he looked up at Deaton. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know what the demon got up to in his body, but his heartbeat is strong." Deaton said, checking the man's pulse. "It wouldn't be a bad idea for him to get checked out. You too, Mr. Stilinski, your shoulders need to be tended to soon." 

"My mom is outside with a first aid kit." Scott said and took off at Derek's nod. Isaac knelt down next to Stiles and placed his hand on the teen's hand to draw more pain from him while they waited. 

"You said you weren't like Harry Potter." Stiles spoke, looking at Deaton. "But look at you, coming in with a magic amulet at the eleventh hour." 

Erica gave a bark of laughter and Derek looked at her quizzically. "Sorry, it's just...I have that necklace too. I got it a couple of weeks ago at the jewelry store downtown. Although mine had a big rhinestone jewel in the middle and not all that weird carving." 

"I didn't think the rhinestone would add to the believability." Deaton smiled. "There are rumors of binding amulets, but like I said Mr. Stilinski, I'm not Harry Potter. I can't just pull these things out of hats." 

"No you just pull them out of costume jewelry stores." Stiles gasped out, looking down at his dad. "I can't believe you just bs'd that whole thing."

"Stiles?" Derek ducked to see the teens face. "You doing alright?" 

"Not even remotely." Stiles breathed out. "This has been a long week." 

"I know, it's over now." Derek said, pressing his lips against Stiles temple. "Melissa will take care of you, we'll get your dad checked out and everything will be fine." 

Stiles nodded, relaxing slightly into the older man's arms. He reached out slowly and after telling himself to cowboy up firmly, he grasped his dad's hand and held it tightly. 

"Yeah. Everything will be fine." Stiles whispered, not sounding sure at all.


	14. Epilogue

"So everything the demon said about werewolves was true." Sheriff Stilinski frowned, rubbing his hand over his face. "Which is another in a long list of sentences I never thought I'd say." 

The man was sitting up in his hospital bed, with Stiles sitting in the chair next to the bed and Derek standing behind him. After arriving at the hospital and Stiles being treated for his dislocated shoulders, they had waited while the doctors had carefully checked over the sheriff, finally just chalking everything up to overwork and exhaustion. The pack had waited while the Sheriff was given a room and Deaton was given a chance to give him his own shot of anti-possession herbs and now it was just the three of them in the room.

"Probably?" Stiles shrugged. "I don't really know how truthful he was about werewolf facts. The things the demon talked about out loud with me are all true, all the stuff about our pack and things about the Hales." 

"What about everything else?" John asked his son. "Other demons, fae, vampires?" 

Stiles perked up at the last word and threw a look over his shoulder at Derek. "Again, not really sure. We have some information but it's nowhere near comprehensive. You’d be surprised at how much dealing with the supernatural is on-the-job training. Sadly, there is no Hogwarts. You actually might be our expert on demons now." 

"I'm thrilled." John said dryly. "Now that I have the two of you alone, was the demon right about you being in a relationship?" 

"Yes sir." Derek took a step forward, placing a hand on the back of Stiles neck. "Your son and I have been seeing each other for a few months now." 

"My teenage son." John clarified. "You've been in a relationship with my teenage son for months. Have you slept with him?" 

"Sir, I promise you that I'm treating Stiles with resp-" 

"You don't have to answer that!" Stiles yelped. "This is so embarrassing!" 

"Don't interrupt, Stiles!" John barked and Stiles jerked backwards, hunching into a protective ball on the chair. The room was silent as everyone froze, unsure of how to proceed. John cleared his throat before speaking. "Stiles. Son, you know I would never hurt you." 

Stiles just nodded, his gaze on his shoes. John looked up at Derek who returned his gaze cautiously, silently warning the man not to push things too much.

"The things that the demon said, that he did to you;" The sheriff sighed. "None of that came from me. None of it. I love you so much, Stiles. I'm so proud of you." 

"Really?" Stiles looked up cautiously. "Even knowing everything about werewolves and sparks and...and me and Derek?" 

"Stiles." The sheriff held out his hand and Stiles stared at it for a long moment, eventually reaching out to grasp it tentatively. "I won't lie to you. I’m not happy that you kept so many secrets from me. I'm really not happy that you've put yourself in danger so many times when you could have come to me for help. There are a lot of choices that you've made that I don't agree with, but I'm not going to be a Monday morning quarterback. You did what you did to help your friends and to protect others. That's...Stiles...how could I not be proud of you for that? It's everything I've tried to teach you. You've been through so much, and you've grown up so much. I've always been proud of you, son and I always will." 

Stiles bit his lip, tears on his cheeks as he blushed heavily. "T-Thanks, Dad." 

"Can I get a hug?" John asked and then shook his head when Stiles hesitated. "Never mi-" 

"No, it's not that, Dad." Stiles paused. "Okay...it's not _just_ that. Mrs. McCall gave me strict instructions not to do anything to mess up my shoulders. I don't think I'm even allowed to pull up my own pants right now." 

"I understand,” John nodded. "You better listen to Melissa." 

"Maybe after I get the sling off next week?" Stiles hedged, trying to communicate subtly. "I'll probably be up to hugs then." 

"There's no rush, son, whenever you're ready is fine." John soothed before looking to Derek. "Melissa assures me that I can trust you. In fact, everyone from Chris Argent to the vet to Lydia Martin tells me that there is no safer place for Stiles than with you." 

"I take care of my pack." Derek said, blushing a bit. "Including Stiles." 

"That's good to know. I would normally send him home alone, but..." John shook his head. "Home wasn't exactly a great place this week. I trust that you'll take him where he feels safe and make sure he's fine." 

"He is sitting right here." Stiles muttered, smiling at his dad slightly. 

"I'll stay with him as long as he needs me." Derek affirmed, ignoring Stiles. 

"Alright, you should go home and get some sleep, kiddo. Come back and see me in the morning?" 

"Yeah, at the crack of elevenish." Stiles joked. He floundered for a moment before eventually reaching out and patting his father's leg. "Love you, Dad." 

The pair left the hospital room, Stiles walking quickly so people in the hall couldn't see the tears on his face. Derek gently steered him towards the elevator with a hand on his back. 

"He'll be okay and you will too." Derek said softly. "It'll take some time." 

"I'm so tired." Stiles whispered as they entered the elevator. 

"Let's go home." Derek pressed the button for the lobby, pulling the teen close. 

"Yeah." Stiles grinned up mischievously. "Snookums." 

"Shut up, Stiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! I've loved writing this fic so much...and I might actually revisit it in the future. Thanks for everyone who read and commented and gave kudos! You all are awesome! Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://inclementpeace.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> The title for this fic was taken from the poem "A Father to his Son" by Carl Sandburg. 
> 
> A father sees his son nearing manhood.  
> What shall he tell that son?  
> 'Life is hard; be steel; be a rock.'  
> And this might stand him for the storms  
> and serve him for humdrum monotony  
> and guide him among sudden betrayals  
> and tighten him for slack moments.  
> 'Life is a soft loam; be gentle; go easy.'  
> And this too might serve him.  
> Brutes have been gentled where lashes failed.  
> The growth of a frail flower in a path up  
> has sometimes shattered and split a rock.  
> A tough will counts. So does desire.  
> So does a rich soft wanting.  
> Without rich wanting nothing arrives.  
> Tell him too much money has killed men  
> and left them dead years before burial:  
> the quest of lucre beyond a few easy needs  
> has twisted good enough men  
> sometimes into dry thwarted worms.  
> Tell him time as a stuff can be wasted.  
> Tell him to be a fool every so often  
> and to have no shame over having been a fool  
> yet learning something out of every folly  
> hoping to repeat none of the cheap follies  
> thus arriving at intimate understanding  
> of a world numbering many fools.  
> Tell him to be alone often and get at himself  
> and above all tell himself no lies about himself  
> whatever the white lies and protective fronts  
> he may use against other people.  
> Tell him solitude is creative if he is strong  
> and the final decisions are made in silent rooms.  
> Tell him to be different from other people  
> if it comes natural and easy being different.  
> Let him have lazy days seeking his deeper motives.  
> Let him seek deep for where he is born natural.  
> Then he may understand Shakespeare  
> and the Wright brothers, Pasteur, Pavlov,  
> Michael Faraday and free imaginations  
> Bringing changes into a world resenting change.  
> He will be lonely enough  
> to have time for the work  
> he knows as his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://inclementpeace.tumblr.com/) for updates!


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